


A is A: Break the Cycle

by Flyboy254



Series: A Is A [42]
Category: Command & Conquer (Video Games), Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Action/Adventure, Conspiracy, Gen, Thriller
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:02:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 42,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26671861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flyboy254/pseuds/Flyboy254
Summary: Roy Mustang is trying to right the wrongs he helped cause in Ishval, side by side with the same people who have every right to hate him. Unfortunately, some people will not let the past die. Calling on Dead Six for help, will the hardened commandos from a Tiberium world actually help temper the hatred of the Ishvalan people?
Series: A Is A [42]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/943266
Comments: 18
Kudos: 6





	1. Prologue

**Break the Cycle**

* * *

**Prologue**

* * *

Maj. Gen. Olivia Armstrong gazed out on her domain, to the north into Drachma. The sun was out today, but it was early enough still that she didn’t need snow goggles. The heavy guns pointing north still waited for the order to fire, her men stood ready for battle. There was just one thing.

Drachma had officially agreed to new diplomatic relations with Amestris.The borders were demilitarized, and that meant there would now be a token garrison for Ft. Briggs. Plans were already being drawn up for where they would go, which units and bases they would man. It would be one of the largest reassignments in the Amestrian military’s history. Briggs would be left near-empty in the face of the future.

The Mountain was crumbling.

Olivia wasn’t one to be overt in her emotions. Her men and women would do what they were ordered. They showed their skill when Bradley tried to take her away and use Briggs as part of his plan. An entire Drachman brigade annihilated, one that had their own organic heavy artillery support. That had gotten the base a citation from Grumman when he became fuhrer.

None of that made the present easy to bear. Amestris was changing, and Olivia had to change with it or face the possibility that she could become useless. Another soldier that wouldn’t adapt to the present and so would be cast out. A living relic of old wars and glories sent to pasture like some stallion the breeders had no more use of. No, she wouldn’t be some cast-off. She would be part of the future, whether that future wanted her to be or not.

“General?” Glancing to the side, she saw Henschel walking toward her. “Telegram from Fuhrer Grumman, urgent.”

Olivia snatched the message from Henschel. “And what does that old fogey want now? Does he want the fort scrapped and sold for parts?” It wasn’t the lack of a snappy comeback or quip that disturbed the general. It was that Henschel’s eyes were hopeful. Glaring down at the telegram, Olivia’s eyes turned the same way.

“Ready the men.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 1**

* * *

Havoc scanned the desert as they rumbled down the rutted path to Ishval’s largest city. The road to the city was still undeveloped. There was some scrub brush, maybe a herd of goats herded every few miles. A few scattered huts and homes, far off away from the road. He lit a fresh cig as they rolled. “Mustang will be glad to see you all again. He didn’t say what the problem was. Can’t blame him either, now that we know there’s a conspiracy running around.”

Gunner laughed, slapping his thighs. “Conspiracies? Secret plots? I thought we left home.”

Havoc looked the group over. Dead Six had finally been released back to the MVTF, after a mission with MV-9. Havoc hadn’t heard any details on it, but from what he’d pieced together from the gossip? Alice Malvin had gotten a hard dose of combat. It was probably for the best though. She couldn’t afford to keep going with the experience she’d had so far. Not what Havoc had seen in those comics Rainbow had given them.

He looked over Dead Six. They were still as he remembered. Parker, square-jawed, sharp-eyed, hair shorn short. Glaring at everything with a wry smirk. Havoc hadn’t had much chance to work alongside the man for some time. Still, he hadn’t changed. He was scoping out the sands, looking for threats. He wasn’t going to be caught unaware, no matter how safe the Amestrians said he was.

Gunner’s grin was genuine. Havoc was surprised that the broad-chested bald man hadn’t asked for the same kind of artificial eye Erza had gained. The black eyepatch over his right eye stood out on his tanned skin, his goatee standing out among the clean-shaven faces around him.

Deadeye didn’t bother disguising his scan of the desert. The thin-faced “Scot” glared out from under his Amestrian-supplied beret at the sands. His hard hazel eyes picked out everything, from the small rises in the distance to each individual goat in a herd. Havoc half-wondered who would win in a shooting contest between him and Hawkeye.

Hotwire had propped herself up against the rails of the truck bed. Her olive skin would’ve made Havoc think she came from the area, sans the white hair and red eyes. She kept looking toward the cab of the truck, but Havoc couldn’t place whether she was concerned or annoyed.

Patch was leaning against the canvas on the back of the truck, head rolling with the movement of the road. His short blonde hair had already gone dusty, his short body bouncing up and down with the holes on the way.

Bruiser, another “Scot”, took a sip from his canteen. His fiery red hair and beard set him apart from the clean-cut Dead Six, his rail-thin frame a marked difference from Parker’s muscular arms and legs. Green eyes stared up at the roof of the truck, bored the entire ride to the city.

Patch’s eyes locked on something as they rolled past, leaning as the truck moved. “Havoc, is there a base nearby?”

Havoc blinked, then nodded. “Yeah, that’s the Eastern Testing Range. It’s where they send all the screw ups and washouts. Gen. Mustang wants to keep them as far away from the Ishvalan rebuilding as possible. He doesn’t want anyone that would get sent to a place like that risking the work.” Patch nodded, but his eyes kept tracking the sign as they rolled on.

An hour more, and the truck rolled through a small desert cityscape. Small, tanned buildings scattered through the distance. Kids ran along the sides of the street, joined by women carrying their groceries for the day and elderly walking about in their now-ample spare time. Havoc watched as Dead Six all started staring out the back of the truck. They knew Ishvalans would look different, but Havoc noticed that the actual sight of them was drawing a lot of Dead Six’s attention.

Rolling into the main plaza of the city, the truck pulled to a stop to the back of a marketplace surrounding the plaza. Carts sold hot food, cloth, shoes, pots and pans and radios. Havoc wondered if there wasn’t a cart selling a kitchen sink somewhere. There was a decent crowd circling the market, all wearing the sashes that were a symbol of their faith. They haggled with each other over what to spend, and apart from it all were pairs of MPs. Every so often some of the Ishvalans glanced over and glared.

Breda grunted as he jumped out of the cab, raising his arms high as he worked his legs again. “Told you we were gonna get her before lunch.”

Falman stared down at his fellow officer. “That doesn’t mean you won’t try to mooch off one of us for lunch again.”

As Fuery left the driver’s seat, he saw Hotwire walking up. “Is everything alright?”

Hotwire shook her head. “Can you pop the hood? Something’s wrong with the alternator.”

Fuery blinked. “Uh, sure? What’s wrong?”

Hotwire peered in as Fuery held up the hood. Pulling out a small flashlight, she leaned in and nodded. “That’s what I thought. Your cable connections are going bad. You’ll need to bring this truck in for maintenance today.”

Fuery chuckled, smiling as he shut the hood. “How could you tell?”

“The noise from the engine. It was making a whirring noise, you shouldn’t hear that from any engine.”

Fuery cringed. “So, it isn’t because of the desert? Because almost all our trucks make that noise.” Hotwire stared at Fuery for a few seconds, like she was trying to decide how to react.

Havoc led the group to a squat, square building. The Amestrian flag fluttered out front, along with a second flag at equal height next to it. Three thick orange lines, cut between each other by two thin black lines. It was the official flag of Ishval now, at least until the provisional government could become a regular government.

The two MPs beside the doors snapped to attention, saluting Havoc as he led the way inside the building. Looking back, he noticed Dead Six staring at the hips on the MPs. Shrugging, he guided everyone to the stairs to the second floor.

Gunner grinned as he went up. “I see Amestris hasn’t found out about handicapped-accessible buildings yet.”

Breda grinned as he walked. “Automail, remember? You’re not handicapped if you can work your way around it.” Gunner didn’t argue the idea.

Moving to the second floor, Havoc led the teams down the hall reading “Amestrian Military Attaché”. There was a small office down the hall, almost a dozen staff handling phones and paperwork for the office. Parker looked like he was rolling his eyes at the sight, and Havoc noted he was the only one who did.

He stopped at a door, “Capt. R. Hawkeye – Executive Officer”. Knocking on the door, Havoc poked his head inside. “Hey, how’s life?”

Riza Hawkeye looked up, hair cut short but with a wide smile. “Havoc, welcome back. Gen. Mustang should be ready to see you all. Capt. Parker, welcome to Ishval.”

Parker held out a hand. “Nice place, put down a casino here the Ishvalans could rebuild in a week.” Havoc figured it was a joke, but if it was it went sailing over everyone’s heads.

Hawkeye still smiled as she walked out from her office. “We’re glad that your team is here. The issues we’ve been preparing for could leave us blindsided without a proper response.” Leading them all to the office at the end of the hall, she paused and knocked. The glass on the door read, “Gen. R. Mustang – Amestrian Military Attaché”.

There was a loud groan from the office. “Come in.” Hawkeye smiled, opening the door to reveal an impressive stack of paperwork piled high on a desk. Behind that, the Flame Alchemist, Roy Mustang.

“Gen. Mustang, MV-5 has arrived.”

Mustang nodded, his dead eyes staring down at the paperwork he was focused on. “Good, tell them to come in.”

Havoc smirked, then tried not to laugh at Parker’s confused reaction. Hawkeye stepped inside. “They’re already here, sir.”

Mustang perked up, shaking out of his trance as he saw Parker walk in. “Oh thank God, if I had to look over one more requisition request I was gonna burn the building down.”

Parker strode over and held out his hand. “This is why I never want to go staff. Good to see you, general. Have to say though, the mustache doesn’t do you any favors.”

Mustang leaned back in his chair, stroking his pencil-thin facial hair. “You say that, but I’ve been told a mustache makes a man look dignified, with an air of authority.”

Parker let Gunner take over. “Sir, the only way people would see authority in that mustache is if you paid them to think so.”

Havoc chuckled, watching Mustang come back to reality as Hawkeye shut the door. “Well. Anyway. I’m still glad you’re all here. There’s been some problems in the region lately and I didn’t know who else to contact within the MVTF. Especially since SG-1’s government wants to ignore a problem if it isn’t already on their doorstep.”

Hawkeye stepped over to a map of Ishval on a far wall. There was a mark of a capital city in the center of the country, with several cities spread out across the region. She moved her hand around the left two-thirds of Ishval on the map. “We’ve managed to bring in significant aid and infrastructure to these parts of Ishval. Working with the provisional government, we’ve enabled the voluntary re-settlement of many Ishvalans displaced by the war. The economy is starting to buoy, and there’s talk of bringing in prospecting teams to see if there are valuable resources in Ishvalan territory.”

Gunner nodded, walking over to the map. “Military footprint?”

Hawkeye’s eyes narrowed, she was all business now. “Minimal. The provisional government is handling all civil matters, including the prosecution of criminals and handling of infrastructure focus. The military police garrisons are only present to ensure there is arrest and investigation of criminal acts, it falls to the Ishvalan leadership to decide if a crime was committed.”

Gunner nodded, turning to Mustang. “Then the question is, why are we here?”

Mustang glared down at his desk. “The easternmost region of Ishval has become a focal point for extremist elements of the Ishvalan population. They believe that Ishval should have nothing to do with Amestris, and that we should be driven out by force if we refuse to leave.”

“Are you?”

Mustang glared up at Deadeye. “Are you implying something?”

“Ishval has no military, what’s essentially a puppet government. In my country’s history it usually takes a mass movement for us to leave a country. You believe Amestris will leave once Ishval can stand on its own?”

Havoc watched as Mustang held himself back. “I volunteered for this assignment because of what I did during the war. I helped to nearly destroy this country, and now I can do some small action to try and return from what I did. Even if Amestris says they want to keep a military presence and the Ishvalans say otherwise? I will gladly risk court martial to honor the wishes of the Ishvalan people.”

Hotwire walked over to the map, staring at the eastern region of Ishval. “You’d better follow through then. He’s speaking from experience.”

“Tomorrow morning we’ll meet with the leadership of the provisional government.” Hawkeye walked next to Mustang’s desk. “Suffice to say, we need you all to conduct yourselves properly.”

Parker realized everyone was staring at him. “What?”

* * *

Lt. Claire Whitworth grimaced, focusing on the task at hand. Channeling her energy, she held one arm up at the target to her left while holding the other up to the target on her right. Her bracers glowed as her alchemy activated, and she could feel the energy shift past her. The target on her left was blasted with cold. The target on her right was bombarded with heat. She focused on controlling the flow of the energy, redirecting what was present and transferring it from one target to the other. After three minutes, Whitworth dropped her arms and backed away, waiting for review.

Master Sergeant Cromwell, his bunker-esque face set in a hard scowl, walked to check the targets. At the melon on the right, he took out a knife and carved out a chunk. Tossing it up in his hand, he dropped it on the ground and went to the target on the left. He smacked the skin with the butt of his knife, leaving a small dent in the frost over it. Slicing his blade through it, he shook his head and turned to Whitworth. “The right target is steamed on the outside, the left is barely frozen on the surface. Try it again, lieutenant.”

Whitworth nodded, adjusting the straps on her gauntlets. “Yes, master sergeant.”

As he walked back to the observation shack, Cromwell noticed a plume of dust making his way toward the range. “Hold until I order, lieutenant.”

The car pulled up, corporals Alma Cole-Derrier and Kerry-Ann O’Malley in the front. O’Malley leaned over the windshield, grinning as she pulled up her goggles. “Lunchtime master sergeant! Capt. Mann said to bring some for both of you.”

Cromwell’s scowl managed to deepen. “What’s the menu today?”

Alma cringed, reaching into the back seats. “Nothing good, I’m afraid. Today’s menu, master sergeant, is an overcooked brisket with dry mashed potatoes and a generous helping of canned beans.”

Cromwell looked like he lost a small piece of his soul hearing that. “You’ve both eaten already?”

O’Malley nodded, pulling out the rest of the mess tins. “Not for lack of trying.”

“Set’em under the shelter,” Cromwell said, jerking a thumb toward the small cover thirty yards behind the firing line. “The fearless lieutenant is still practicing.”

O’Malley scoffed. “Still? This is her third week on the range, what’s her problem?”

Alma glared at O’Malley. “She’s still a lieutenant, Kerry-Ann.”

“Yeah, a rookie lieutenant who’d get us killed with a map and compass. What’s she trying, master sergeant?”

Cromwell jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “See those two watermelons? She’s trying to flash-freeze one of them and boil the other.”

Alma nodded, setting one of the sets of tins down on a table under the cover. “And how many has she gone through?”

Cromwell rolled his eyes. “If she gets the next two, that’ll make it two.”

O’Malley laughed. “Typical alchemist. All flash, no meat.”

Cromwell didn’t argue. “Stick around, we’ll call it here after this run through.” Looking at the tin and groaning, Cromwell marched out to the range. Placing fresh melons on the two stands, he went back to the observation shack and grabbed the bullhorn. “Alright lieutenant, last one for the day. On the command, you will freeze the melon on your right, and boil the melon on your left. Standby!”

O’Malley leaned over toward Alma. “A thousand cenz says she freezes her own hand off.”

Alma stared at the test. “Kerry-Ann, that is ridiculous.” A pause. “She’d more than likely freeze her whole arm.”

Whitworth stood between the two melons, focused on what she needed to do. She knew in her mind, she needed to channel the energy from the first melon to the second. She need to keep any heat from reaching the second, ensuring it froze as fast as possible. Redirecting the movement of air around both, flash-heating the first to the point it would explode.

The air shifted around her, heat shimmers turning the air to the left around the melon into a haze. Cromwell watched from the observation shack, silent as the gauntlets glowed with energy. O’Malley leaned against a post, sipping at her canteen as she watched. Alma was more focused, paying attention to Whitworth’s position in the distance.

Whitworth’s gauntlets dimmed, the lieutenant backing away. Shaking his head, Cromwell went forward and took out his blade. Feeling the first melon, he could feel it was at least warmed up. The problem was that warmth was only skin deep as soon as he cut into it. Cutting into the second, he noticed the skin was at least a little tougher to cut through. Despite it, it wasn’t the flash freeze he’d wanted. That Gen. Hawker ordered.

Cromwell turned to Whitworth. “We’re done for the day, lieutenant. Cole-Derrier and O’Malley brought some lunch, let’s eat up and then get back to the base.”

Whitworth nodded, stripping off her gauntlets as she shuffled toward the cover. As she walked past, O’Malley and Alma swapped 1000 cenz notes with each other on principle.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 2**

* * *

Patch wiped the sleep from his eyes and shoved himself out of bed. It was still early, the sun not even out from under the eastern horizon. That was at least another constant, A is A, and the sun always rises in the east. Stretching out, he did some quick exercises before a quick shave. There were no showers or baths in this area yet. A basin of water and an old safety razor were all he had for now. Dressing in his loaned Amestrian uniform, he checked that he was at least presentable before walking out.

Walking down to the mess, he saw Hotwire and Falman already eating breakfast. Grabbing some bacon and eggs, he slid into a seat next to them to grab some toast. “Morning.”

Hotwire nodded. “Morning Patch. Lt. Falman was just telling me about Ishval.”

“Perfect timing then,” Patch said, pouring himself some water from the pitcher on the table. “Now, from what we read Ishvalans oppose alchemy?”

Falman nodded. “The Ishvalan religion believes that alchemy perverts the world in ways that are unnatural. That it gives humans the idea that their hands are more capable at creation than their god, Ishvala.”

Patch looked up from his plate. “So carpentry, masonry, those are allowed? Those also shift God’s creation in ways not found in nature.”

Falman shook his head. “I can’t speculate on Ishvalan faith, that would be more worthy of Dr. Jackson’s attention. What I do know is that many Ishvalans still harbor an intense distrust of alchemy today.”

Hotwire washed down her eggs. “Makes sense. If alchemists were used as a force multiplier during the war, how many Ishvalans had to watch as their loved ones were killed by the thing that their god explicitly forbids?”

Falman wiped some food from his mouth. “Fortunately, many Ishvalan priests are willing to work with the general to rebuild Ishval. The Grand Cleric of Ishval even proclaimed that Mustsang is sincere in his desire to help, and that the Ishvalan people can trust him.”

Patch chewed some of his bacon. “And he’s the one we’re seeing today?” A nod. “Does he know who we are?”

“He does,” Falman said. “He’s already been briefed on the truth regarding Father and the true history of Amestris. Two of the other men we’re meeting with today know as well. They were present during the fighting in Central along with SG-1.”

Hotwire grinned. “No guesses who. So, what name does he go by now?”

Falman smiled, moving to put his plate in the scullery. “His master gave him a new name, Lakhan. I’ll go on ahead, remember we need to be at the meeting before 0830.”

Patch nodded, taking another bite of his eggs. “So, what do you think?”

“Parker will love this,” Hotwire said. “Go in, kill whoever leads these extremists, get out. Everyone’s happy. Except the extremists.”

Patch grinned. “They’ll be dead, they don’t have to be happy about it.”

Finishing their breakfasts (And Patch finishing up Hotwire’s bacon), the pair made their way into the government building. Meeting up with MV-2, they made their way to the conference room on the second floor. They turned left at the top of the stairs, taking seats around the conference table in the provisional government’s wing of the building.

After ten minutes wait, a group of Ishvalan men came into the room, led by a middle-aged bald man. Mustang rose, everyone following his lead out of respect. Patch recognized the leader as a warrior-priest from the manga, and the man who guided Scar during his time among the Ishvalans in East City's slums. He walked with a dignified bearing to the head of the table on the Ishvalan side.  
  
The second man wore an Amestrian military uniform, his white hair tied up tightly behind him. This had to be Maj. Miles, who scanned the GDI commandos in silence. He glared down on them as the Master shook Mustang's hand.  
  
The third leader of the group was where Dead Six's attention was locked. He was a tall man with shirt white hair and a muscular frame. He walked with authority, staring back at Dead Six. The X-shaped scar over his eyes was unmistakable. The long sleeves over his arms covered what they knew were a pair of tattoos. Tattoos made to fight Amestris using the same means the Ishvalans claimed went against their own religion.

Scar was in the room, and Dead Six weren’t taking their eyes off him.

“Gen. Mustang,” the Master said, shaking Mustang’s hand. It wasn’t hard to see that Mustang was looking wistfully at the Master’s mustache. “These are the specialists you mentioned?”

Mustang nodded, sitting as the Master eased into his chair. “Yes, sir. This is Echo-Six, commandos we’ve met in our…travels.”

The Master nodded, turning to the commandos. “Welcome, all of you. All Ishval is thankful you have come to us in our time of need.”

Parker nodded. “Sure, we’re glad to be here. So, what’s the situation in the country right now?”

Scar and Miles narrowed their eyes at Parker, but the Master rose and turned to a man of Ishval on the wall of the conference room. "With the end of Bradley's reign, we have been in the process of rebuilding Ishval from the ruins of the war. Our lands have been left to decay since the end of the fighting and our forced relocations. Despite it, we have worked hard to come as far as we have. Our families are returning, and our people are finally seeing a future for the first time since we were cast from our homes."

Miles turned to the rest of Dead Six. “Ishval is still a territory of Amestris, and that’s where a lot of discontent in the Ishvalan population resides. They believe the only way to achieve freedom is by becoming an independent nation. On the surface, that does make sense for them to feel this way. The issue is that becoming independent leaves them vulnerable to encroachment by Aerugo.”

Patch sat a little straighter. “As I recall, Aerugo sponsored Ishval against Amestris with arms and munitions. What good would they find in trying to seize this region by force after what’s happened?”

“Aerugo and Amestris have been fighting on their borders for hundreds of years,” Miles said. “To them, this would be a warning to Grumman’s government that they’re still not ready to forgive everything. The majority of nations would allow it to go unimpeded, seeing as Amestris has always had a reputation of doing what it will regardless of what others want or claim.”

Parker grinned. “And what a coincidence: There’s extremists in the far-eastern border. So, who’s the biggest threat?”

The Master scowled. “The Brotherhood of Righteousness. Led by a former warrior-priest apprentice, named Aagney. He had escaped the extermination, following some of the displaced to the city of Dublith. Our brothers and sisters who returned from there tell of terrible hatred expressed toward them, and Aagney grew hard because of it. When he returned, he started gathering followers. Angry young men who see no future astride with Amestris.”

“That’s all we need to hear,” Parker said. “When do we take him down?”

The three Ishvalans shifted, glaring at Parker. Mustang, Hawkeye, and the rest of MV-2 did the same. Parker blinked, looking around in confusion. "What, did I miss something? Why else are we here?"

Scar finally spoke up, pointing to Hotwire. “You’re here because of her knowledge.”

Hotwire stared at Scar for a moment. “Me? What knowledge do I have?”

The Master smiled. “We’ve learned that your nation faced a similar issue, of two cultures faced at odds with each other. We believe that you might assist us in finding a way forward.”

Dead Six looked at each other, trying to see if they really heard right. Deadeye finally answered with, "Then why didn't you call for a diplomat?"

"We tried," said Scar, breaking his resolute silence. "When we described the situation, we were told you would be sent ahead. You would observe the situation on the ground in preparation for a later diplomatic delegation to assist us."

Patch groaned. Maybe it was eventual, being placed in such a situation. GDI did need hands-on information to prepare for the placement of a diplomatic detachment from member nations. At this point, Dead Six was the only organization capable of making these judgements. They were the ones going between dimensions. They could give the most accurate information to the diplomats when they arrived.

Hotwire put her hands on the table. “The solution between the Israelis and Palestinians did create peace. Understand, there are still extremist elements in both communities. Ultra-orthodox Jews and Hamas both still fight to destroy the peace between either nation.”

“We were told this by your government in their communications.” The Master nodded to Scar. “With effort, we can fight this extremism without falling to it. Lakhan has been vital in communicating this to our people.”

The Master motioned at Scar. It seemed he'd taken the name "Lakhan" since Bradley's reign had ended. Lakhan said, "Our people need to know that the Amestrian military will respect their wishes. We've seen what Amestrian promises are worth in the past, and cannot turn such events into distant memories so easily. The people know me, and they know that I was once the enemy of Mustang. Now, they know that I will do what it takes to see peace achieved."

Parker’s eyebrow shot up. “What it takes? That’s not suspiciously general at all.”

Everyone glanced at Parker. Lakhan said, "Working with Gen. Mustang, we've already made progress. You've noticed that the MPs outside only carry clubs to maintain order. We're in the process of recruiting an Ishvalan police force, along with building an economy."

Bruiser leaned back in his chair. “This area could theoretically be filled with oil or precious minerals. Have you considered hiring out experts to assist in finding any resources?”

The Master waved the idea away. “Our land is sacred to us. The Earth is the bosom of Ishvala. To use her bounty is within our right as her children. To take from her so forcefully cannot be undone.”

Patch scanned the faces. The Amestrians didn’t seem to like that answer, and he noticed that Miles didn’t either. Apparently the Ishvalans weren’t all on the same page. “There’s one other issue. The Aerugans, they are being kept appraised of what is happening?”

“The Aerugans,” Lakhan half-whispered with a venomous voice. “They’re aware of our difficulties. Few Ishvalans see them as allies, especially after what happened during the war.”

Patch recalled what he read in the manga. The Ishvalans had been stacked up against the gate, begging the Aerugans for refuge during the war. The Master was among the crowd, watching as the Aerugan border guards turned them away. "Is Ishval a possible contention point between Amestris and Aerugo?"

The Master shook his head. “The Provisional Authority made it clear that, for now, we are still within Amestrian jurisdiction. Even with the death of King Bradley, the Aerugans are hesitant to test Amestrian military power.”

“They also fear fighting the Ishvalan people,” Lakhan said. “They attempted to annex Ishval centuries ago. They were defeated by our warrior-priests, and have been hesitant to even approach Ishval since.”

Parker grinned. “Is that pride I hear?”

Mustang spoke up. “We’ll be observing the situation in Ishval for at least three weeks. I want the GDI diplomatic team to have as much information as they need when they arrive.”

Hotwire nodded. “We’ll do what we need to sir.”

The Master smiled, bowing his head. “Thanks to Ishvala, for granting us new allies to solve our woes.”

Scar bowed his head as well. Miles just gave a nod. The meeting was finished, and the group began to scatter.

Patch went up to Miles. “So, an Ishvalan police? I’m actually a police officer myself. If you want, I could assist in a training program.”

Miles smiled, walking back to his office in the Ishvalan side of the building. “Alright, maybe that could help.”

Gunner and Hotwire went to The Master as he went to the stairs. “Sir, if possible we’d like to accompany you in the city. Both our nations have experience with extremists groups. Observing the conditions the people are living in would be helpful for our information.” The Master nodded, gesturing for the pair to follow him.

Deadeye and Bruiser followed Havoc back to the Amestrian side. “We’ll need to speak with the Aerugans in detail about this. Even if they don’t want anything to do with Ishval and Amestris, they could still see some benefit to possible destabilization in the region.”

Havoc nodded. "Hawkeye should have the latest information. Let's get back to her office and start talking."

Suitably dispersed, that left Parker alone with Mustang in the hall. Checking that no one else was around, he spoke as soft as he could. “So, Scar, what’s he really doing?”

Mustang blinked. “His name’s-”

“Yeah, right, ‘Lakhan’. Whatever, he’s Scar. Look, you’re keeping an eye on him, right?”

Mustang turned to face Parker. “What are you talking about?”

Parker laughed. "Well, c'mon. He's the one talking to people about all this? I mean, with what I saw, Handlebar and Miles aren't stupid enough to just bring him on."

Mustang started walking toward his office. “We call him by his title, not his facial hair.”

Parker laughed. “Oh, I get it now. Mustache envy.”

Mustang stopped and wheeled on Parker. “Is there something you’re trying to say, _captain_?”

Parker took the hint, making sure that all the doors were closed. “Fine, I’ll get to the point. We can’t trust Scar. He’s a terrorist, and those guys don’t just turn into good guys because they say they have.”

Mustang glared at Parker. “You read the manga. You’ve seen what he did for us during the coup.”

“Yeah, and? That guy was willing to kill you and two kids, forget all the other poor bastards he offed. The only one I won’t blame him for was that Tucker guy.”

Mustang nodded. “Fair.”

“Look, we’ve had plenty of terrorists say they’ve reformed. Guys in Northern Ireland and Central America, saying they’ve turned over a new leaf after prison. Know what happens? The Brits and CIA all wind up seeing them at work again later. They don’t reform, they just play the part until they’re back at work.”

Mustang sighed, going toward his office again. “I can understand why your experiences might give you that impression. Still, Lakhan has show his willingness to do what he needs to help the process. Thanks to him, the Ishvalan civilians have been willing to work alongside our garrisons.”

“Letting their guard down,” Parker said. “Your people are walking around with clubs. I saw what those warrior-priests did in the comic, you saw it yourself. Your people won’t have a chance if he decides to turn them loose. Clubs against knives, I know where to put my money.”

Mustang grabbed the door to his office. “Until the delegation arrives, you have your duties captain.”

The door slammed shut, leaving Parker alone in the hall.

* * *

PFC. Sherman scanned the sands in front of him. “You almost done? I’m starving.”

PFC. Fokker leaned out of the guard shack. “Hey, you’re the one who got us stuck in here for two weeks straight.”

Sherman turned, glaring at Fokker as he said, "Hey, I had no way of knowing she was married."  
  
Fokker grunted, putting his cover back on as he closed his canteen. He said, "Alright, your turn," and Sherman grinned, going back inside to get at some lunch. Granted, all the two had to eat on guard duty were rations. It wasn't like they could just swap out with another pair of soldiers on the base. Being on duty meant devoting your whole day to it, and in their case, it was literal. They had to wait for the night watch to come relieve them, then get a few quick hours of sleep before doing it all over again. It didn't feel fair to Sherman, but it was better than getting any more paperwork on his "moral and professional failures".

As he dug in, Fokker talked outside. "So, did you hear the latest from Cpl. O'Malley? About the alchemist?" Sherman grunted a negative as he dove into his can of beans. "Turns out she can't even take down a pair of watermelons. Can you believe that?" Sherman laughed, shoveling another spoonful down. "I mean seriously, it's like they let anyone become a state alchemist or something."

Sherman pushed the empty can to the side and said, "Well what'd you expect? You heard about who she is. Another rich wanna-be who probably thought she'd coast through the military as a general." Reaching into his pack, Sherman pulled out some hard biscuits wrapped in tinfoil.

"Yeah, you're not wrong," Fokker replied, sighing and starting to pace. "Still doesn't explain why they sent her here. You heard anything about that?"

Sherman bit into one of the biscuits. “No idea. What I heard, she screwed up on a mission from Grumman himself.”

Fokker whistled low. “And they sent her here? What’re you thinking?”

“That maybe Grumman’s got his own skeletons.” Pulling out a tin of beef, Sherman kept eating.

“Maybe, but…” Fokker trailed off. “Movement to the southeast.”

Dropping his fork, Sherman threw his cover on and grabbed his rifle. He rushed out of the shack to see Fokker staring across the distance with his binoculars. “What’ve we got?”

Fokker looked disappointed. "Group of Ishvalans. Looks like -- yeah, looks like they're moving their flock through the area."

Sherman sighed. "I'll call it in." Stepping back into the shack, Sherman passed by his lunch and went for the radio. "Post Seven to command, Post Seven to command, situation update, over."

“ _Roger Seven, proceed with update, over._ ”

“Command, we have Ishvalans herding roughly two miles in the distance. They aren’t closing on our position but they are within the warning line, over.”

“ _Seven, maintain observation. We’re sending out a unit to warn them away, command out._ ”

Sherman nodded, stepping back outside. “Hear that?”

Fokker was still watching the herders. “Yeah. Hey, do they look like they’re getting closer?”

Sherman rolled his eyes. “Of course they are, city boy. Herds move, they need to eat where there’s fresh grass.”

“Sue me for not growing up spending my time getting to know a cow.”

Ten minutes of watching the herd later, the pair heard a car driving up. Turning, Sherman saw Sgt. Covenanter and Cpl. Cole-Derrier in one of the unit's off-roaders. "What've we got?" asked the Sergeant.

Fokker lowered the binoculars. “Three Ishvalans, a few dozen goats. My guess, they weren’t able to read the signs.”

Covenanter groaned and said, "Got it. You to keep us covered, you know what to do." The off-roader roared ahead, bounding over the sand and scrub. "Cole, get a magazine in that weapon."

Alma Cole-Derrier shook her head as she did. “Sergeant, they’re just herders. Telling them they’re trespassing should be enough to get them to leave.”

“Hawker’s orders Cole,” Covenanter said, turning the off-roader toward the herd. “Any trespassers are a potential threat. Plus, this is old Ishvalan territory. I don’t want to tell these fools to leave without some kind of backup.”

Alma heard the bleating of the goats reach her ears. "They're still civilians," the Corporal said. "You know Gen. Mustang wants them to trust us while he works with the Provisional Authority."

“And we have our orders to keep this base and everything on it secured,” Covenanter said. “Mustang might be hot shit for Central and East City, but don’t forget who we’re working for.”

Alma slammed the magazine home. “I never could, sergeant.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 3**

* * *

Patch had to admit that the training program for the Ishvalan police wasn't terrible. Granted, they weren't quite as strong on the idea of peace officers knowing the law, but they still had potential regardless. He watched as the class rehearsed some of the latest hand-to-hand takedown techniques taught in Amestris. The MP training the recruits was exact with each step, trained and careful. The trainees were jerky and unsure, but they understood how the action was supposed to flow.

Miles watched next to Patch, smiling as the trainees separated to practice on each other. "I know they're probably years behind what you're used to, but they're the best men we had who volunteered."

Patch watched as they practiced their techniques move by move. "You made sure they went through some kind of psychological screening before this?"

Miles nodded. “Any warrior-priest was turned away that volunteered. Ishvalans aren’t all fanatics, but the warrior-priests view almost everything through a religious-colored lens. I made it clear that the police should be about enforcing the laws made by men, not by whatever men believe in.”

Patch turned to the major. “I take it you’re not religious yourself?”

Miles shook his head. “Maybe there is an Ishvala, maybe there isn’t. What I know is that my duties don’t often conform to her rules. Working alongside alchemists is proof of that.”

Patch was relieved. It wasn't hard to find cases in his world's history where a successful change led to problems. Sometimes it was too lenient toward a faith, like what happened in Ireland with de Valera. Other struck hard, as with Ataturk in Turkey. As long as Miles maintained a clear division between keeping the peace and enforcing the rule of whoever held power, Patch felt Ishval would have a chance.

Watching as the trainees tried to bend each others' arms into a lock, he leaned back against the wall of the gym. "Do we have any plans over whose authority the police will be under?"

“Our hope is that the eventual executive offices will have control over the police in a civilian capacity. Gen. Mustang noted that a civilian police force seems to be a hallmark of several nations he’s studied across the multiverse.”

Patch nodded. “That is correct. My own nation’s police are civilian, the military has no jurisdiction over civil police matters under law. You can even use our experiences to learn from our mistakes. My nation’s special service unit was only formed after a failed rescue effort.”

As the men prepared to run through the takedowns at full speed, Miles looked toward Patch. “Do many police services have similar specialized units?”

“Almost all,” Patch said. “There will be times when criminals are using weapons or techniques that your typical officer isn’t able to respond to. Things that can get men killed if they go up unprepared. You need a specialized team or unit capable of responding to incidents outside normal police work. Men and women capable of doing what no one else can.”

Miles watched as the trainees slammed each other onto the mats. Two were awkward, the thrower nearly going down with their partner. A third rammed his opponent too hard, but the quick apology that followed eased Patch's mind. "Are they military, or civilian?"

“Civilian, but trained to a military level.” Patch observed the training MP go up to the third pair, checking on the trainee that took the fall. “You only call them out for the most severe situations. Some police use them as separate units, others use them as secondary duties for their officers.”

"We'll worry about that once we have actual police," Miles said. Both men noticed that, as the MP pointed out what went wrong, the trainee that took the fall was glaring at his Amestrian instructor.

* * *

Hotwire watched the rail crew work the line, singing an Ishvalan song as they worked in the blazing desert sun. There were two water trucks nearby, one to keep the sand down and the other for the workers to drink. The line was planned to run out from the city then split, one half going toward Amestris and the other for Xing. There was no shortage of men on the job, heaving the rails and pounding the ties down.

The Master smiled, watching as they kept pace with the job. “It was Gen. Mustang’s work that made this reality. His reports were the lynchpin to securing Amestrian loans to build the railroad.”

Gunner nodded, wiping the sweat from his head. “Good thing. We’ve found that as long as people have work, food, and a place to sleep, they don’t see much of a reason to rebelling or terrorism. They’ve got too much to lose.”

“Family men too,” Hotwire noted. “Children and wives are typically a good deterrent to planting bombs.”

The Master nodded, watching as a horse cart filled with food rolled up. “Then we shall endeavor to see our people working long into the future.”

Hotwire turned toward The Master. “That’s why we’d still recommend you call in specialists to start prospecting, sir. I can respect the need to honor your religious beliefs but your options are limited in this region.”

The Master’s smile vanished. “I can’t allow that. My people have long held these lands as sacred to their hearts. We have finally returned to our homes, I will not bring them back to see them destroyed.”

Hotwire didn’t make an argument. The Master was the leader of the Provisional Authority, meaning right now he had the final say in all matters. It wouldn’t do any good to press on mineral and fossil fuel prospecting yet. Time to change topics. “What’s the prevailing opinion of the people regarding their relationship with Amestris?”

The Master started walking as the workers called a halt for lunch. “Many Ishvalans want to see peace between our nations, though as allies or under their aegis is still in doubt. We aren’t blind, Amestris has no true reason to hold Ishval anymore. They could cast us aside and leave us, but they can’t risk Aerugo gaining territory. After Bradley’s rule, the Amestrian people have seen the price of his border wars. Gen. Mustang has said if the Aerugans come for us after an independent Ishval is born, Amestris would do nothing to halt it.”

Hotwire listened as the men started talking, diving into their lunches and cool water from the truck. “Then what holds up an alliance?”

“The Extermination,” The Master said. “We can accept that not all Amestrians were complicit in the war. What they can’t yet accept is an alliance with the military that carried it out. My people have no desire for a military, not after what happened. The only thing we could live with is a police force.”

Gunner looked back down the track, seeing the gleaming steel lines running into the city. “Your people are bigger than most, sir. I can’t imagine even letting a group like Mustang’s into my country if they did something like that.”

“We are under no illusions. This process will take time, and will only be accomplished with effort and compromise on both sides.” The Master led the way back to his cart. “Our only real chance is to work with the Amestrians, not against them.”

Hopping into the back of the cart with The Master, Gunner and Deadeye watched the people of Ishval live and work. Much of the city was focused on reconstruction, bringing back homes and workshops for the people. Several times they passed once-ornate temples, the rebuilding observed by men wearing the daggers of the warrior-priests.

As they rode through a marketplace, they heard a crowd gathered to one side of it. Hotwire leaned her head back to try and see more. “What’s that?”

The Master shook his head as he drove the mule on. “At this time of day, it’s the Ishvalan Liberation League.”

Gunner looked ahead. “They a problem?”

“No, they are not so extreme. Come, I think you should see who your diplomats will be facing.” Turning the reins, The Master tied the mule to a post and led Gunner and Hotwire toward the crowd.

As The Master greeted the crowd, Hotwire looked toward the center. She could hear a man talking in a firm but low voice. It was a voice of authority, one that invited instead of ordered. She ignored the glares and looks she was getting in her Amestrian uniform, looking ahead as she finally heard the words.

“Ishvala has guided us back, Her mercy has guided us through suffering to our homeland. We cannot deny that there were Amestrians who aided us, but this is our home. We should do as we feel is right, not ask if Amestris approves of our actions.”

Hotwire noticed two things. First, the man was older. Middle-aged, just on the cusp of being elderly. His white hair had thinned considerably, his face lined with wrinkles. The second, on his hip was the blade of a warrior-priest. He stood with a trio of men, handing out pamphlets and scanning the crowd. Security? “ _Security against what?_ ”

The Master broke through the crowd, not hard when he stood a good head taller than anyone in Ishval. “Brother Mual.”

Mual, smiling at the arrival, bowed his head. “Ah, the leader of the Provisional Authority. Is something the matter? I see you brought soldiers with you.”

The Master shook his head. “No, nothing is wrong at all. These are new officers to the area. Gen. Mustang volunteered them to learn about our people, our lives now that we’ve returned.”

Mual smiled at the pair. “Then I welcome you both to Ishval. I am Mual, and we are the Ishvalan Liberation League.”

Hotwire held out a hand, keeping things civil as long as she could. “Pleasure to meet you sir.”

Mual took the hand, gesturing to the crowd. “It is heartening, isn’t it. Even a year ago, I had to convince myself this wasn’t a dream. The return of our people to our homes, able to shape our own lives under the guidance of Ishvala. We have long prayed for it, yet now that it arrived I still can’t trust my own eyes.”

Hotwire wanted to say her people knew the feeling. When Israel was founded many Jews couldn’t fathom that their hopes and prayers had been answered. The fact was, there was no Israel here. Saying that her people were kindred spirits in that respect would only cause confusion. “We’re glad to do whatever we can to help the Ishvalan people.”

Mual smiled, nodding. “And we are grateful that many Amestrians feel the same way. Regardless, we have a right to our own homeland now. The Liberation League holds that the Ishvalan people should be allowed to pursue their own future. Free from the interference of anyone who believes they might hold our interests at heart. It is well-meaning, but no one can truly understand what we desire. They are our hopes and dreams, not those of another.”

That was the problem with men like Mual. It was easy for terrorists to take their words and twist them. To turn genuine hopes for the future into calls for armed attacks and bombings on innocent people. Still, Mual’s men weren’t reacting with hostility or over concern. They kept handing out the pamphlets, talking to the crowd and keeping interest up.

The Master turned to scan the crowd. “You haven’t seen the Brotherhood active in the crowd?”

Mual shook his head. “If I had, I would have sent them away. We want nothing to do with their methods.”

That wasn’t enough for Hotwire, and she could tell Gunner was thinking the same thing. The IRA had relied on NORAID to cover their actions, or Black September existing inside Fatah. They needed to see the money trails for the ILL and the Brotherhood, otherwise they couldn’t believe Mual’s words.

The Master held out his hand. “Then I will leave you to your efforts. Ishvala watch over you.”

Mual shook, bowing his head. “Ishvala watch over you all.”

Hotwire waited until they were back on the cart to speak. “Old friend of yours?”

“Mual was part of our efforts in the east, trying to spirit civilians into small oases in the desert.” Snapping the reins, The Master sighed as he dug up the memories. “He guarded the people under his charge for years. They were families, women and children who were some of the first evacuated during the war. None of us realized how brutal it would be. By the time we managed to get any aid to him, many under his protection had died.”

Gunner turned back to look at the crowd. “Safe to say he wasn’t happy?”

The Master kept staring ahead. “He was devastated, like any man. Despite this, he carried on. He saw that the civilians still alive got what they needed to survive. Once Bradley was overthrown, he worked with the Provisional Authority. He still does.”

Hotwire grunted as the cart rolled over a particularly deep hole in the street. “You don’t consider him an issue?”

The Master looked back. “Do you?”

“It isn’t uncommon for men in his position to act as a socially acceptable face for groups like this Brotherhood. Even if he doesn’t believe in their mission, he can see them as useful pawns to get what he wants. He gives their missiong a cover of legitimacy in exchange for funding and intelligence.”

The Master stared back ahead. “He is popular among the people. Making claims as these would damage the respect of the Provisional Authority, as well as turn popular sentiment away from working alongside Amestris.”

Gunner laid his head back. “What about Lakhan? You said he’s working with a few groups.”

“He may be the proper one for this task.” The Master smiled. “I am glad you are the ones sent to us. You are wise, despite your initial trepidations.”

Gunner let out a grunt. “It wasn’t ourselves we’re worried about.”

* * *

Deadeye, Bruiser, and Hawkeye stared across the desert at the Ishvalan-Aerugan border post. Well, technically it was the Amestrian-Aerugan border post, but then all borders were technicalities. There was a small detachment from each nation on the fence. The Amestrians in their berets and blue uniforms. The Aerugan border guards were dressed more practical for the desert, light fatigues and caps. They were all armed, of course. They weren’t hostile though, and if Deadeye saw right (Which he always did) he watched as an Amestrian traded with an Aerugan: Cigarettes for coffee.

“I know it must seem silly to you,” Hawkeye said. “Some fencing across a road in the middle of a desert.”

“Not really,” Bruiser said. “A lot of nations with desert borders have tried the same. A lot of fool Americans keep making a fuss over a wall over their entire southern border. Thankfully no one’s stupid enough to listen to the people who want it.”

Deadeye started scanning the desert with his binoculars. “Is there much smuggling?”

“Some, illegal trading mostly. The Ishvalans don’t want much of anything to do with Aerugo, not after what they see as a betrayal during the war.”

Bruiser glanced back at the driver in the off-roader. “We read there’s a conspiracy active as well. Do you think they’d be active across the border?”

Hawkeye shook her head. “The border guards on-post since the coup haven’t reported any suspicious activity, and there have been no complaints or questions from the Aerugans.”

Deadeye didn’t look away from the desert. “No questions? They didn’t bother to ask why every Amestrian they were fighting on their border dropped dead for almost a half-hour? Why doesn’t anyone question things around here?”

Hawkeye’s voice was flat as she spoke. “You mean the same way no one questioned how Nod was able to start harvesting tiberium almost as soon as it landed on Earth?”

Bruiser cleared his throat. “Anyway, we will need to start working with the Aerugans. If there are extremist factions in Ishval, they can move across the unguarded sections of the border without issue. You’ll need cooperation from them if you’re going to have a chance at cutting them off from escape routes.”

“That won’t make some of parliament very happy,” Hawkeye said. “The ANUF says that because they supplied arms to Ishval, we can’t trust anything involving Aerugo.”

Deadeye finally lowered the binoculars. “We wen to war with the Germans-”

“Who supplied arms to the IRA,” Bruiser added.

“Until we realized we needed to work against the Soviets together. You both may have grievances, but you’ll still need to work together against other threats. The Brotherhood will continue to be an issue until you starve it of the oxygen it needs to live. That requires working with the Aerugans. And who in blazes in the ANUF?”

“The Amestrian National Unity Faction,” Hawkeye said. “They’re the second-leading party in parliament following the People’s Coalition Party.”

Bruiser groaned. “Bloody politics.”

Deadeye glanced at Bruiser. “Weren’t you cheering when we got a parliament in Edinburgh?”

Bruiser ignored the jab. “Which faction is more supportive of Grumman’s actions?”

“The PCP,” Hawkeye said, going back to the car. “They aren’t willing to rubber stamp everything he asks for, but they’re at least willing to listen to his arguments.”

Bruiser nodded. “And let me guess, the ANUF wants Grumman to go back to the days when Bradley would declare war on anyone who looked at Amestris funny?”

Hawkeye smiled. “Then you read the intelligence packet we sent?”

Deadeye shook his head. “Call it an inspired guess.”

Getting back into the off-roader, the driver took off back for the capital. “The Aerugans will have some harsh thoughts as well you know,” Hawkeye said. “We did initiate several border conflicts with them. Winning them over, even getting them to talk, it’ll take something from us.”

“Compensation for Aerugo or extremists in Ishval,” Deadeye said. “I don’t see an argument there.”

* * *

Parker looked over the MPs from the plaza in front of the Provisional Authority. None of them had rifles, even a pistol on their hips. They were walking out like cops on the beat, not soldiers in a hostile situation. They’d wander the markets, walk their patrols, he even saw some of them buying from the stands and cafes in the market outside the Provisional Authority headquarters.

“Hey Parker.” Turning, Parker saw Breda and Fuery walking up. “Find something?”

“Yeah, I did.” He turned and whistled at two of the MPs. “Hey, you two! Get over here!”

The two hurried over, looking confused. “Yes, sir?”

He pointed at the stall they were at. “What the hell do you both think you’re doing?”

The pair looked at each other, confused. “Uh…Getting lunch, sir?”

“On patrol? Both of you? Why the hell aren’t you watching your surroundings? Hell, one of you should’ve been watching the crowd.”

The pair looked like they being chewed out for breathing, and Breda jumped between Parker and the men. “It’s fine, Capt. Parker is a transfer from Briggs. You two can go back to your lunch, I’ll talk to him.”

Parker’s glare turned to Breda. “What the hell are you doing?”

Breda glared right back. “They’re allowed to get lunch dummy. Mustang said our people are allowed to buy from the Ishvalan shops, the Provisional Authority agreed.”

Parker facepalmed. “Of course they’d agree, they’ve got a damn terrorist working with their leadership!”

Fuery shook his head. “He’s not a terrorist anymore, you-”

“Read the comics, yeah, sure. Look, you have your guys walking around like they’re patrolling some one-horse town without any weapons. What do you think will happen when the terrorists decide to strike? They’ll know which stands your people frequent. They’ll know the patrol routes, they’ll know they don’t carry weapons. What the hell is Mustang thinking?”

Breda stepped forward. “We need the Ishvalans to trust us right now. Sending our patrols out like they’re ready for war won’t get them to think we’re working with them. It’ll set us up for another war in Ishval, one no one wants.”

“The terrorists do,” Parker said, standing a head taller than Breda. “They won’t fight like they did last time, either. You wanna know how’ll they’ll do it? They’ll set themselves up in the cities, use the desert as hideouts. You guys don’t have aircraft or satellites, you’ll never find them out in the sandbox. They’ll strike, kill a few of your people, then disappear into the civies. You’ll have to be even tougher on them, close down the markets and start jailing anyone who might know anything. You want to end this, start acting like you’re already fighting.”

Fuery stepped to the plate. “Well we aren’t fighting, are we? Captain, Gen. Mustang is just as concerned with keeping our soldiers alive as the Provisional Authority wants peace.”

Parker pointed back at the headquarters. “How can they have peace when there’s a murderer in that building?”

Breda ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “Why don’t you get it? He’s not a murderer anymore! If he’s a murderer, then so’s the general! So are you!”

Parker laughed. “Of course we both are!”

The two men were caught on the backfoot with that. Fuery blinked a few times before speaking. “You’re fine with that?”

Parker smiled. “What, you think I’m in denial? That’s what you do in this job, you have to kill people. Yeah, some idiots dress it up but it’s still murder. What’d you think, I’d start saying you’re wrong? I’m a murderer, Mustang’s a murderer, the difference is we did it because we had a job to do.”

Fuery pointed out at the Ishvalans. “So you’re fine with murdering them?”

Parker glared down at Fuery. “What kinda soldier are you? These are civilians. Mustang’s feeling guilty because of what he did in Ishval? Fine, he can strip off his uniform and hand it to some Ishvalan who needs it. It can’t come at the cost of putting his people in danger from terrorists.”

Breda didn’t back down. “The men know what they’re trying to do. You don’t set policy, you’re here to tell the diplomats what’s going on here.”

“Oh I’ll tell’em exactly what’s going on here.” Parker turned from the pair to storm back into the headquarters. “It won’t be pretty when they hear it.”

Watching Parker storm back to the headquarters, Breda and Fuery tried to let out the frustration they were both feeling. “What do you think,” Fuery said. “Should we send him back?”

Breda thought for a moment, then turned for the headquarters. “Let’s talk to the boss. He’s the one who brought them here. He should know what we’re gonna tell him.”

* * *

The three men led their goats back into the pen, checking that no one else was near the house. The long hike had been tiring but was worth the effort. They took some water from a small stone well and drank up before going into the house.

Their brothers inside were busy. Some maintained their weapons, taking the actions apart to clean and oil. Some were busy eating small dinners, talking and chuckling with each other. One or two prayed to a small shrine to Ishvala. One of the herders knelt before it -- he was always a religious man and no one faulted him for it.

Their leader stood before a map of Ishval, regarding a red X to the northwest of the capital. “What is your report?”

"We have their positions," one of the herders said. "We've memorized each of their guard posts and the response time of their off-roaders from the base."

The man turned. He was young, with a full head of white hair and fiery red eyes. He wore a blade on his hip, but it wasn't the same as a warrior-priest's. It was a simple dagger, not the wicked curved weapon "Spread the word. Be careful in the city; we can't afford the Amestrian lapdogs interfering. Get some food and rest -- you'll go tomorrow." The pair bowed and moved for the food, leaving the man to go over the map again.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 4**

* * *

Mustang sat behind his desk, hands steepled before his face. His squad was arrayed around the desk, waiting for him to say something. Anything. After a tense silence, the general said, "I'm sure by now you all know what Parker said yesterday. I can understand feeling anxious about his presence here."

"Anxious isn't the half of it sir," Breda said. "He's unstable. Worse, he's itching for a fight. We can't let him do this, not after all the work we've already put in rebuilding the place."

"He's right sir," Hawkeye said. "None of Dead Six display any tendencies toward the same violence he seems to want. You've said yourself: Our mission in Ishval should be to find peaceful solutions wherever possible."

Mustang didn’t look up. “You all think that?” He could see the nods from the edge of his vision. “Well, would it surprise you that Havoc vouched for him before he even got here?”

Everyone turned to stare at Havoc, the man sighing as he pulled out a fresh cigarette. "Geez, chief," Havoc said, searching his pockets for a lighter. "Why'd you have to throw me onto the tracks like that?"

Mustang grinned. “It was your argument. Go on, tell them.”

Havoc sighed, lighting up. “Look, Parker’s an ass, I’m not arguing that. He’s also someone we can count on to be on edge, suspicious of the Ishvalans.”

Falman balked at the idea. "Hang on, we're here to help the Ishvalans," the other officer said. "You're saying we want someone here who treats them as an enemy?"

“I do,” Havoc said. “Like it or not, all of us want to believe that Ishval is going to want to work with us. We all think there are going to be problems, but none of us wants to face the possibility that we’d have to use force against them. Even if they’re showing hostile intent.”

"Are you serious?" Breda said, pointing an accusing finger at Havoc. "When were you gonna let us know about this idea, after he was gone? He could sink us with those diplomats GDI are sending."

“GDI sees him the same way I do,” Havoc said, taking a long drag. “The diplomats won’t listen to his report except if there’s a real threat. So long as there’s no threat from the Brotherhood, we can use Parker as that little voice in the back of our head. The one that keeps reminding us not to forget that we’re the bad guys to a lot of Ishvalans.”

Mustang looked up. “We need to be cognizant of our experiences in Ishval, myself especially. As much as I want to bring Ishval back, I can’t ignore the possibility of threats from within the Ishvalan population.”

“Then we can use the rest of Dead Six to make a report to the diplomats,” Breda argued, turning to Mustang. “Why do we need a lunatic like Parker?”

Havoc exhaled a long trail of smoke. “You didn’t work black ops, right Breda?” Breda turned back to Havoc again, the blonde soldier going to tap his ash into a tray on Mustang’s desk. “I did. Before I got transferred to East City I was working black ops. Not black enough though, I guess.”

Breda’s stare slacked, but he didn’t let go. “So you’re saying that he’s right? Just because he’s some black ops specialist that we should let him go on his way?”

Havoc shook his head. “I’m saying that I know the kind of man Parker is. We can all hate how he acts, what he says, but he’s going to be someone we’ll need. Do you think any of you are capable of handling terrorists like he can? If it came down to it, and we were going to have to make a choice, can any of you actually make that shot?”

Hawkeye glanced down at the floor. “None of us wants that Havoc.”

“Exactly. None of us wants it, and none of us could do it without being forced.” Havoc pointed his cigarette at the window. “We know there’s a threat out there, and even if we’re gonna try to negotiate with Ishval we’re still the people charged with holding it. The problem is that none of us wants to hurt any Ishvalan. Parker doesn’t have that problem. Neither would I.”

Breda was going to keep going, but then he saw the look in Havoc’s eyes. Rather, the lack of life in them. Everyone in the room was used to seeing Havoc with a grin, his cigarette upturned and a light in his eyes. This was a different Havoc. This one had a scowl, his cig turned down with dead emotionless eyes.

Mustang shut his eyes. “When we’re finished, I’m recommending Parker take an evaluation with Col. Mackenzie in the SGC. Until then, he needs to be the one making sure we’re hearing that uncomfortable voice in our ears. The one telling us that we can’t forget there are Ishvalans who want to see us dead.”

The room was silent, for all of two minutes. That was when they heard it. The noise of a crowd shouting outside. Turning to the window, Mustang grimaced. “What the hell, what are they doing out there?”

The squad gathered at the window, Mustang looking annoyed as he was pressed into the glass. They saw the market and plaza filled with Ishvalan civilians, pairs of MPs surrounding the gathering but looking uneasy. There was a gathering of three men in the middle of the crowd, moving with purpose through the crowd. What caught their eyes was the distinct mark on the three men: A half-circle with three lines coming off of it.

“This is bad,” Hawkeye said. “The Brotherhood have never been this public before. Something must have changed.”

Fuery cringed, watching the crowd starting to act with the same intensity as the three men. “What should we do, sir?”

Movement to his left. A familiar face was moving to the crowd. “Hawkeye, get down there and organize the MPs. We can leave this situation to the Provisional Authority.”

Down at the plaza, Parker shook his head watching the MPs hesitate. The crowd was getting thick, soon they wouldn’t even be able to make a move without beating down some worked-up civilian. He saw the three on a stage preaching, wearing orange balaclavas with some kind of weird symbol. It didn’t make sense to Parker, but it seemed to work up the locals.

Gunner walked up to Parker, shaking his head. “What do you think?”

Parker watched as some of the MPs started running between each other. “We’ll let Mustang’s people screw it up a little before we make a move. I say we just watch and see what happens for now.”

One of the masked men started shouting now, loud enough that the pair could hear everything. “The Amestrians claim we have been given our lands back, but it’s a lie! They still hold our borders, and worse! They have the gall to keep a base in our ancestral lands! Their ‘Experimental Ordinance Testing Range’, it sits on our ancestral home! It holds a garrison that could strike us before we could even react! We must take action, and drive the Amestrian dogs from our homes!”

Gunner rolled his eyes. Parker knew he’d heard the like before, he’d gone to Northern Ireland enough to know the routine by heart. The foreign army had taken our lands, built their bases on it. It’s not only right to drive them away by force, it’s what should be done. Never mind the casualties, or the inevitable backlash from what we’re saying should be done. Work a people into a frenzy, you can get them to do anything.

Movement to their right. Gunner nodded over and said, “And look who’s coming to get involved.”

Parker saw “Lakhan” storming into the crowd. His face was livid, and as he shouldered his way through he caught everyone off-guard. Parker grinned, watching the man force his way to the stage. “There’s a shock. What do you think, he’s angry they’re being so open?”

Gunner shrugged. “Maybe. If he is still taking action against Amestris, I can’t imagine he likes what they’re doing here.”

Parker watched as “Lakhan” clambered up the stage, and watched as he confronted the loudest man in the balaclava. At first he seemed excited to see the scarred man coming, but flinched back. “Lakhan” stood a head taller, Parker wondered if maybe it was a teen under the mask. The Brotherhood member looked like he was trying to argue, but “Lakhan” wasn’t having it. Turning to the crowd, he called out.

“Brothers! Sisters! Do not listen to these young fools! It’s true, the Amestrians still hold what by rights should be ours. That doesn’t mean we can act like rabid dogs seeking meat! It will take time for the Amestrians to leave, and we cannot strike them!” The crowd was shifting. They were all worked up a second ago, now they were being told to calm down. The rapid gear change couldn’t have helped their emotional state.

“I understand this anger,” “Lakhan” said, gesturing to the masses. “I understand wanting to make the Amestrians pay for what happened. Eight years of war, and then six years of exile. Despite that, I work side by side with Gen. Roy Mustang to rebuild Ishval! You all know that my days are spent building links between ourselves and the Amestrians sent to rebuild our lands.”

A voice called out from the crowd. “They’re the ones with MPs in our cities!”

“Lakhan” didn’t even glare at the man, he just looked annoyed. “Then tell me where we can find trained Ishvalan police, and we’ll bring them out.”

Gunner chuckled. “Well, at least he still has a sense of humor.”

Parker rolled his eyes. “Yeah, great, now he has jokes.”

“Lakhan” turned back to the crowd. “I beg you all, go back to your lives. Ishval is our home again, and we cannot risk it by acting without thinking.”

The balaclavas tried to step forward, but “Lakhan turned to face them. He took a step toward them, fists balled and eyes alight. The Brotherhood men flinched, stepping away in the face of the man who killed alchemists like they were roaches. There was more movement, and Parker saw Hawkeye ordering the MPs into something resembling a response. The men formed in a line, hands on their clubs but waiting for the order. The crowd was starting to disperse, splitting into small groups and asking each other what would happen. Realizing their situation, the three men started running from the market into the crowd. “Lakhan” remained, watching them flee.

Hawkeye made her way to Parker and Gunner. “Well, that’s the Brotherhood of Righteousness. What do you think?”

Parker glared at Hawkeye. “I think you people are idiots. What the hell was that? It took you coming down for your MPs to even form up in response? Christ, why not just let them keep talking up there.”

Hawkeye stood firm in the face of Parker’s anger. “We’re trying to keep the situation calm, Parker. Ordering our men to assault the crowd and those three would only inflame Ishval again.”

Parker pointed at the crowd. “It’s already getting inflamed! Mustang’s soft touch crap is gonna get people killed. If he isn’t willing to take these guys to task, who will?”

“I will.” Turning, Parker found himself face to face with Lakhan. “Capt. Parker. I was told of your personality. I see it was all true.”

Parker grinned. “Didn’t they tell you about my beautiful voice? So, how’s life been since the coup, Scar?”

Lakhan’s glare grew intense. “You know that isn’t my name.”

“Yeah,” Parker said, still grinning. “But I read your story. ‘Call me whatever you want’, remember? So, I’ll just keep calling you Scar.”

Lakhan stepped close to Parker. “Is your own past so fractured, you must force others to relive theirs?”

Mustang came up, Havoc standing to his right. “They’re gone?”

Lakhan nodded. “They’re like all cowards. When you confront them, they flee.”

Parker rolled his eyes. “So what’s that place they were talking about? Isn’t that the base we passed on the way here?”

Havoc nodded. “Yeah, the Testing Range.”

Mustang gave Parker a questioning look. “What about it?”

Parker’s voice was so sarcastic he could’ve doubled for Don Rickles. “Well if they’re complaining about the base, don’t you think we should see if it needs to be here anymore?”

Lakhan nodded. “This one is right. Your base to the northwest has never been considered welcome, even before the war. Removing it, even announcing it will be removed? It will show my people that Amestris is genuine in its desire to help Ishval.”

Mustang thought for a moment. “That could be difficult. The base is considered a classified Amestrian facility. I’ll need to call Grumman and see to getting access.”

“Your office is right there,” Parker said. “Are you worried you’ll have to do more paperwork if you make the call?”

Mustang stared at Parker with a defeated scowl. “You should know better than to mock that beast.”

* * *

Whitworth shuffled back from the mess, staring down at the sandy pavement below. She’d failed again, unable to even freeze a cantaloupe. It didn’t help that MSgt. Cromwell made his thoughts clear. Oh, he still held proper bearing and gave her the respect for her rank. That was all it was though, respect for her rank.

She looked up to see the sky lit up in the west, brilliant orange and purple hues marking the last minutes of the desert's day. She didn't mind the view, but it didn't do anything for her either. Her career was dead now -- no one came out from Area 15 except when their service was up. The only hope she'd have any way to make a name as an alchemist again was if she rescinded her commission and her state certification.

As she walked, she looked up at the sound of a party. Looking around, she saw a crowd outside the enlisted club. Everyone was shouting and laughing, collected around the door with a sandwich in their hands Whitworth had never seen or smelled before. Moving closer, she saw the enlisted all crowded around each other eating what looked like larger sandwiches, but the bread looked different. It looked like it was made of the same kind of bread for a pretzel, and the way the enlisted clamored around for it made it seem more valuable than gold.

As the enlisted made their way in, she saw two officers staring in through a window at the far edge of the building. One of them had brown hair and a stout body, the same one that had taken Whitworth to the base. Curious, she walked over to the pair and said, “Capt. Mann? Is everything alright?”

Mann spun at Whitworth and glared. “Would you keep quiet? Cole’s cooking tonight!”

Whitworth blinked, looking through the window to see a crowded bar in the club. “Cole? Isn’t that one of the mechanics?”

The thin lieutenant next to Mann nodded. “Best on the base. Dassault, by the way, you’re the alchemist right?”

Whitworth nodded. “Yes, Claire Whitworth-”

“Yeah whatever,” Dassault said, watching as Cole came out from the kitchen carrying a trio of plates. “Ugh, I shouldn’t have gone to college.”

“Rank doesn’t confer benefits, just responsibility,” Mann said, not taking his eyes off the plates. “How’d it go today, Whitworth?”

Whitworth blinked. “You mean my testing? Oh, well it was…I suppose it wasn’t that great of a day sir.”

Mann nodded. "Still not freezing the melons that well?" he quipped.

Dassault grinned and said, "That sounds like the punchline of a dirty joke."

Whitworth blushed. “I beg your pardon -- ”

Mann ignored her. "How'd she get the Cretan cheese?" he asked.

"Some kind of mail order?" Dassault said with a shrug. "How'd she make that bread?"

Whitworth stared at the two like they were two horses talking about the quality of their hay. “What’s the big deal about this bread?”

“It’s all of it,” Mann said with a sigh. “Cole’s a fucking master, why she’s a mechanic I can’t tell.”

Dassault started chewing on his knuckles. “One of these days we need to get her to cook for us.”

Whitworth blinked. “Can’t we order her to?” The lieutenant shrank back when both men stared at her like she was the lunatic for a change.

Inside the club, Cromwell could barely hear anything over the men and women inside. They cheered as another half-dozen plates were set down. Cromwell chuckled, laughing as Alma wiped her brow. “Cole, you’re wasting your efforts on these idiots.”

Alma shook her head, grabbing a glass of water. “Master sergeant, the only wasted effort is that which doesn’t meet its full potential.”

Kerry-Ann poked her head out from the back. “Cole, you did it again!”

Alma smiled. “Yes, I did. Another good night for everyone.”

Kerry-Ann facepalmed. “No you idiot, I mean you ordered too much food. We’re running out of space in the freezer again.”

Alma stared at Kerry-Ann for a moment, then noticed the far window. “Look, just keep an eye on things here okay?” Going into the back, Alma took a few minutes. She grabbed three loaves of fresh hot bread and put them on the grill. Waiting a few minutes, she put the hole-filled cuts of Cretan cheese, cuts of chicken breast, and slices of ham in the sandwiches. Slathering some mustard and mayo on, she put the three sandwiches on some of the last clean plates and went for the back door.

Smiling, Alma walked around the back of the enlisted club to where Mann, Dassault, and Whitworth were watching. “Hungry?”

Mann and Dassault looked at Alma like she was a divine figure. As Dassault snatched a sandwich Mann said, “Cole, you are the finest one of us.”

Still smiling, Alma turned to Whitworth. “I’ve got one for you too ma’am.”

Whitworth stared at the sandwich. “I’ve already eaten-”

Alma’s smile didn’t waver. “At the mess, but then none of us really consider that food out here. It’s alright ma’am. Officers don’t come into the enlisted club, but there’s no reason I can’t come out here.”

Whitworth stared at Alma, then looked down at the sandwich. Reaching out like she was wondering if this was really safe, she took the sandwich with a nod to Alma.

Mann spoke through a sandwich-filled mouth. “Another miraculous job Cole. By the way, you have duty Wednesday night.”

Alma looked disappointed by that. “Sir, perhaps I can take the watch two hours later than usual? I’d be willing to stay on two hours after to make up for it.”

Whitworth glared at the woman. She was talking like that to an officer? She was about to set the woman straight when she heard chuckling. Mann laughed, wiping some errant mustard from the side of his mouth. “Yeah, sure. Why not become queen of Aerugo while you’re at it?”

Alma sighed, stacking the plates. “That’s a no then. Understood sir.” Nodding to the three officers, she went back to the rear of the club.

Whitworth turned to Mann. “Sir, why did she think she could disrespect you like that?”

Mann blinked as he answered, “What, Cole? Hell, she’s never disrespectful. My guess, she had something else planned for Wednesday. They aren’t gonna like this though.”

Whitworth looked around, “Who isn’t going to like this?” Dassault answered by pointing inside the club.

Alma walked up to the bar, motioning for everyone to quiet down. “Attention! Attention, I have some news. Wednesday’s planned Xingese night has to be cancelled due to my standing watch.” The club roared, everyone rushing the bar asking questions.

Fokker still managed to make himself heard despite the press. “C’mon corporal, you can’t let’em do this! Every time you make the Xingese stuff it’s because the mess serves something _worse_ that usual!”

Sherman tried to keep two other privates from crushing him. “He’s right! Cpl. O’Malley can do it for you right? Can’t she sergeant?”

Covenanter was busy shoving herself a space, but still turned to answer. “If the roster says Cole, it says Cole. You know the rules, no excuses unless she’s almost dead or has a death in the family.”

Alma nodded, collecting some plates from the bar. “Thank you sergeant.”

There was a sound of breaking glass, and Kerry-Ann rolled her eyes. “Okay, that’s it. **_ALRIGHT YOU JACKASSES! COLE’S GONNA HAVE DUTY WEDNESDAY WHETHER YOU LIKE IT OR NOT!_** “

The club froze, turning to stare at Cromwell for a response. The grizzled master sergeant shook his head as he took his drink in hand and said, “Don’t look at me you morons, O’Malley’s right.”

The club started to settle again, soldiers going back to their tables and complaining. Whitworth had never seen anything like it, not like this. It was supposed to be the duty of a master sergeant to handle the enlisted, but a corporal had just shouted at them all to quiet down? And why were they all so anxious to not have Cpl. Cole stand duty Wednesday?

Mann finished off the last of his sandwich, then turned to Whitworth with a grin. “You’d better eat that.”

Whitworth looked down at the sandwich still in her hand. “Because it will get cold, sir?”

Mann shrugged. “That, and I’m pretty sure Dassault will tackle you for it. I’m going to my room, I’ll see you both later.”

Whitworth turned, only to see Dassault already walking for the officer’s club. She couldn’t understand this base. The officers seemed so lax, and the enlisted too out of control. Her career really was over, and as she bit into the sandwich-

“ _This…This is delicious._ ” Looking down, Whitworth started to tuck in some more. Her dinner was forgotten, and as she ate she heard a song. Looking inside the enlisted club again, she saw Fokker and Sherman singing with each other. Soon, the entire club was singing, even Cromwell. It was a bawdy song, about a woman and her sister who both wanted the same man, with lyrics Whitworth was already blushing at. Yet there was a warmth to the song. The entire club was singing it, each man and woman at once. Even Cole and O’Malley as they wiped the bar down. There was more singing, and as Whitworth turned she heard the officers club playing a record as loud as they could, singing along with it.

Then there she was, standing alone in the darkening base. Something tugged at her from inside, a longing she realized she was starting to feel more and more. She couldn’t put a finger on it, but it ate away at her as she stood outside the window, finishing the rest of her sandwich as she listened to the singing inside.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 5**

* * *

Parker grinned as they rolled across the sand to the Testing Range. Somehow, Mustang had convinced Grumman to go along with the idea that the base might be a sticking point. They’d all loaded up early that morning, bouncing in the back of a truck while Mustang sat pretty in his official staff car.

Havoc groaned, rubbing at his eyes. “Great job Parker, now I didn't get my beauty sleep.”

Parker grinned and said, “Well, we have to be thorough for our report to the diplomats, don’t we?” Dead Six all chuckled at that one.

Breda glared at Parker. “Yeah, easy for you to laugh at. I bet you’d just love for this whole place to go up, that way you can get what you want.”

Parker played innocent saying, “What, little old me?” None of the Amestrians gave Parker anything close to a sympathetic look.

Up in the staff car, Mustang turned to The Master. “You realize I can’t promise anything. Even if the base can be removed, it will take time to do it.”

The Master nodded, serene even as the car bounced across the desert roads. “The Provisional Authority will make sure to explain this matter to the people. Maj. Miles, you can help accommodate this matter?”

Miles nodded from the front passenger seat. “If Grumman approves it, we could use the base as a training center for further Ishvalan forces.” He grinned, glancing back at Mustang. “If Amestris still wants to station forces on it, the military can pay for the right.”

Mustang grinned. Even out in the desert, and technically under his command, Miles was still part of the Mountain. It was part of what made him the valuable link between the people of Ishval and the military’s work. The Ishvalans saw him in his uniform, and saw a chance of working with Amestris. It helped that Miles had also kept the Amestrian troops in line when it came to interacting with the recruits.

They saw warning signs start to crop up along the roadside, saying that anyone who trespassed would be shot if they came any further. The warnings here were blunt, making it clear that the anyone who approached would wind up dead on the sands. It was different from the garrisons in the cities, where it was obvious that the military facilities were off limits. Here, it was like the signs were trying to be sterner -- as if you forfeit your life if you ignored them.

The car turned toward the small road to the base, making for a bumpier ride that slammed them about in the vehicles. Mustang grunted, jealous that The Master could be in the same car but still appear serene through the ride.

They came up on a small guard hut, a PFC stepping out with an SMG in hand. The car and truck slowed, the PFC leaning toward the car as the driver rolled the window down. “Good morning gentlemen. Can you please give me some IDs?”

Mustang held his pocketwatch up, but the PFC shook his head. “Sorry sir, we’ll need more than that.”

Mustang blinked and asked, “You understand I’m Gen. Mustang, correct? We should be expected by Gen. Hawker.”

The PFC nodded. “Yes sir, you are. Gen. Hawker has additional security measures in place for the base. Please, an official military ID?”

Mustang shook his head. “I don’t – That watch _is_ my ID!”

The PFC shook his head. “I’m sorry sir, but we can’t let you on to the base without some other form of ID.”

Mustang blinked, staring at the man from the backseat. “What’s your name, soldier?”

“Private First Class Sherman, sir.”

Mustang nodded. “You understand that you’re talking to a brigadier general, Sherman?”

“I understand I’m talking to a man with a brigadier general’s shoulder boards, sir,” Sherman said. “Unless I get special clearance from the general, I can’t let you on the base.”

“This is ridiculous,” Mustang said, glaring at the man. “You just said we’re expected, that you know I’m Gen. Mustang!”

Sherman was calm as he spoke. “Sir, we can put in a call to the base but I can’t authorize you to enter this area without clearance.”

Mustang groaned, nodding at the PFC. “Then please call to the base and see if there’s a way around this?” Sherman nodded, going back to his partner in the hut.

The Master raised an eyebrow. “This is unusual?”

Mustang nodded. “On almost all bases, you can gain access with the authority of a state alchemist. Grumman didn’t mention additional security procedures here.”

The Master grinned. “I see the rumors of the Trickster of the East are well founded.”

Someone knocked on the rear window. Rolling it down, Mustang saw Sherman bending down to meet his eyes. "Gen. Hawker is sending an escort for your detachment sir. You'll follow them to the base and receive further instructions inside."

“Very well,” Mustang said. “Thank you.”

Sherman nodded, watching the window roll up as he got back into the guard shack. Peeking at the car to make sure he wouldn’t be heard, he turned to Fokker. “What do you think?”

Fokker shook his head. “Mustang, here? And with the leader of the IPA? Something stinks.”

Sherman nodded. “You think it’s true, that Mustang’s letting his guilt mess with his head?”

"Either that," Fokker said, shrugging he leaned against the wall of the hut, "or he's got it in his head that he should be in charge of 15."

Sherman could barely stifle his laughter. “Yeah right, like Gen. Hawker would let an alchemist take care of things here.”

A ten minute wait later, and two off-roaders pulled up. One was positioned in front of the staff car, the other took up at the rear of the truck. The sergeant in the passenger seat waved ahead, and soon the four vehicles were rolling onto the Testing Range. Mustang noted that both off-roaders seemed to handle the road better than their vehicles. He wondered if he could find a way to secure one of them for his own use.

Pulling up outside the base headquarters, Mustang saw a small squad armed with pistols waiting for them. Waiting out in front was a middle-aged man, light brown hair graying and cut close. As Parker jumped from the truck, he realized the guy was different from the rest of the people he’d seen “researching” this country. He didn’t have any scars or weird haircuts. He didn’t look like he’d been beaten with an ugly stick or molded by sculptors into a work of art. He looked like every other flag officer Parker had seen in his time.

“Gen. Mustang,” the man said, reaching out and shaking Mustang’s hand. “Gen. Hawker, commander of the Experimental Ordinance Testing Range. Thank you for your patience as we made accommodations for your visit.”

Parker noted that the man’s voice was flat as he spoke. It wasn’t that he lacked authority, he had that. It was the lack of any real inflection. He wasn’t jovial, annoyed, even suspicious. His voice was as flat as a ballerina laying on her back in the middle of a Kansas cornfield.

Mustang nodded, shaking the man’s hand. “A pleasure, general. This is-”

“The head of the Ishvalan Provisional Authority. We get the same newspapers.” Hawker shook The Master’s hand as well. “Welcome to the base, sir.”

The Master bowed slightly, shaking Hawker’s hand. “We are most grateful that you could accept us today sir. With luck, we can find an equitable resolution to our current issues.”

Hawker looked to Mustang. "I don't recall my men taking any liberty in Ishvalan-controlled areas," he said.

“The problem is a little bigger than that,” Mustang said, before realizing Hawker was walking into the headquarters building. He motioned for Hawkeye to wait with the group at the front of the building before continuing. “We’re having some issues regarding Ishvalan territorial claims. Unfortunately, this base is becoming a part of the issue.”

Hawker didn’t look back as he walked through the doors of the headquarters. “I’ve taken adequate steps to ensure that all ordinance and weapons testing takes place at more than safe distances from any potential civilian areas, and the limits of the range are clearly posted.”

"These aren't the issues we speak of," The Master said. "My people have returned to our ancestral homes, only to see an Amestrian military base so close to their capital. Not only that, but a base that warns trespassers will be shot. Some of my people are questioning the promise that they will be able to live in their own lands again. Under their own agency."

Hawker opened his office and strode in. "I have my orders, gentlemen, regardless of what the people of Ishval may want. Until I am ordered to cease operations on this base, I will carry out my orders."

Mustang nodded, motioning for The Master to take the lone seat in front of Hawker's desk. "Which is understandable sir, but doesn't assist us. Fuhrer Grumman spoke to you about this yesterday, correct?" the Flame Alchemist asked.

"He did," Hawker said, grabbing some paperwork from his desk. As he filled it out he didn't look up at either man. "He said I was to explain the purpose of this base, our role in the region, and if possible explain the intricacies of my command."

The Master glanced at Mustang before speaking. “Forgive me for asking, I am unfamiliar with military matters. Is your command that complicated to head?”

Hawker kept working as he said, “Very.”

* * *

Gunner stared at the soldiers in front of the headquarters and off-roaders. “Don’t think they want us going anywhere.”

Parker nodded. “Maybe they’re worried you’ll break something.”

“Yeah, he’s the one they’re worried about,” Hotwire said. “Those off-road vehicles, something’s different about them.”

Parker nodded. The vehicles had the bodies of an old German military car, but with very different suspensions. The soldiers carried very interesting weapons as well. Dead Six knew their small arms, so they could tell when a magazine was a double-stack. Technology that they came to understand Amestris didn’t have. The soldiers were watching them with suspicion, especially Dead Six. It was like they knew, on some deep level, the commandos were outsiders disguised as their own.

Mann turned to a stocky captain with the guards. “Are we being held here, captain…?”

“Mann sir,” he said, shaking his head. “You aren’t being held, but you are under escort. Several parts of the base are considered off-limits for your group.”

Miles nodded. “Very well. What areas aren’t off limits?”

"The base's post exchange, the headquarters, and the enlisted and officer's clubs."

Miles blinked. “The clubs are open right now?”

“They are sir,” Mann said. “Gen. Hawker leaves them open for the personnel on-base to use at all times in case they find themselves without any tasks. Being a good distance from any usual creature comforts, it’s considered the least that can be done for the morale of the range.”

That perked up Dead Six. No base on Earth just left the clubs unlocked during the day, and not this early. Parker was thinking that if they’d tried this at 29 Palms, every alcoholic on the base would go UA the first day to drink away the pain of being stationed to 29 Palms. Come to think of it, this place reminded him of that camp. A massive barren desert in all directions, a single exchange, small clubs for the personnel stationed, and worst of all? A commander that seemed like a total hardass.

“Well, since we aren’t doing anything I think the clubs sound fine,” Bruiser said, turning to Mann. “Mind showing us where they are?”

Mann led the way, the soldiers from 15 forming a loose perimeter around the visitors. Parker barely noticed they were treating this seriously, keeping their eyes not on the base but on each of the visitors. He was too busy scoping out the base -- specifically, the closed-off hangars in the distance. On a normal base, the hangars and motor pools would be kept behind a chain link fence topped with c-wire. Here, the hangars and shops were behind heavy concrete walls topped with two combined rows of wire. This was a lot of security for something inside an already secured and isolated base.

The officers club was about what Parker expected: small and worn from the years. The interior had worn wood floors and painted stucco walls. The bar at the back was small, a small collection of up-scale liquors in front of the mirror behind the car. A large radio sat to the side, an old-school wood paneled number Parker could remember in his grandparents' house when he was a kid.

Mann stopped, nodding to Fuery. "Sorry master sergeant, but it's a bit of a base rule. Officers only in this club. You're more than allowed to go to the enlisted club though." Parker's eyes narrowed at this, but he didn't raise any objections about it. It wouldn't help anyway, not with them surrounded by a bunch of armed guards. Havoc gave a nod, and Fuery followed two of the guards to the larger enlisted club a few yards away.

Parker turned back to Mann. “So, you gonna get us something to drink?”

“You’ve got legs?” Mann chuckled as he went behind the bar. “You’re not doing much right now, you can come behind the bar and get your own glass.”

Patch shrugged, going to get a glass of water. "Quite a lot of personnel on this base. Sizable, given there were no Ishvalans living here for almost a decade."

"Well it makes sense to put a testing range in the middle of nowhere," Mann said, grinning as he poured his own water and sipped. "It's not like we could put this place in the middle of East City."

Patch looked to Havoc and got a nod. It added up. He sipped the water and leaned against the bar saying, “So Gen. Hawker doesn’t have any care for what’s happening in Ishval?”

“This base is devoted to the development of experimental ordinance and technologies,” Mann said. “We don’t get involved with the local political situations.”

“That won’t last,” Hawkeye said. “You do know that the Brotherhood of Righteousness is active, correct? They’ve recently made a public outcry against this base. They claim they want it returned to Ishvalan control.”

Mann shrugged. "They can march right up to the front of the base. Gen. Hawker won't let anyone on this base until he's ordered to or it's over his dead body." Dead Six all looked to each other, thinking about that statement as Patch poured the rest of them water.

* * *

For an hour, Mustang stood listening to Hawker describe the work he accomplished at the base. Terms like "experimental mechanical developments", "ballistic design and advancement", and "mechanized coordination across the battlespace" started to overwhelm him with how fast and deep Hawker went on them. He saw The Master listening as best he could too, but as a man with no military experience he could only sit quietly as Hawker now went on about "radio-frequency telemetry for counter-battery operations".

At some point, the Master finally held up a hand and spoke. "That is all very impressive, Gen. Hawker, but I must confess to being a simple man. Would it be possible to see these developments?"

Hawker stopped scribbling at his paperwork and looked up to glare at both men. "These developments are considered classified," he said. "Only direct written confirmation from the Fuhrer is allowed to let any individual not on a part of base personnel to see the in person the work being done on this base."

Hawker gave Mustang a dark look. This was the first trace of emotion Hawker had given either man, and it was a stern warning at that. The Master was still serene, but it was obvious he was taken aback by the sudden shift in tone from the other general. Both men could only nod as Hawker went back to his paperwork and said, "If Fuhrer Grumman issues orders for this unit to assist with your operations in Ishval, I will follow those orders."

Mustang nodded. "Very well," the Flame Alchemist said. “Thank you for the time Gen. Hawker. I think this should satisfy us for now."

Hawker nodded, rising only to shake their hands before going back to his paperwork. “If you’ll both excuse me gentlemen, I have to see to this work.”

Showing themselves out and making their way back to the front of the building, Mustang and The Master waited for a few moments under the watch of a trio of armed soldiers until their team came back. “Is that everyone?” Mustang asked. He got a nod from Hawkeye, and sighed. “Alright, let’s get in and start heading back.”

As the vehicles left, Hawker watched them leave from the window in his office. The door opened behind him, and he heard Capt. Mann’s voice. “Should we increase the guard around the base, sir?”

Hawker nodded. “Put additional troops on post from 1900 to 0500. Ensure they’re compensated for their time.”

* * *

Parker was silent until the truck pulled into the plaza outside the Provisional Authority building. Then, he grabbed Fuery by the arm and led him inside the building. No one said anything until Parker had led the way into the conference room. "Gunner, Bruiser, take the door," Parker ordered.

Mustang was glaring hard at Parker as he said, trying not to growl, "I'm going to try and stay calm, Parker. Why are you doing this to one of my men?"

“He was separated from us,” Parker said. “They took him to the ‘enlisted club’ when the rest of us were in the officers club. Now I’m gonna ask this once: What was Al’s reaction when the dog started talking on that flying ship?”

The Master and Miles tried to figure out what Parker was talking about, but Fuery nodded and answered, “He asked if the dog was always a dog.”

Parker nodded, letting go of Fuery and backing away. "Sorry Mustang," he said, "just needed to check that he was still himself."

Mustang scowled, but he could understand. "If it helps, I'm suspicious too," said the general. "Hawker said this base was a testing range, but none of what he mentioned makes me think it matches the level of classification he gave it."

The Master looked over and asked, “What do you mean?”

"Now that I've had time to think over what I heard," Mustang said, taking a seat, "He mentioned a lot of advancements in technology. Which makes no sense, because there's only one thing Amestris has pursued."

"Alchemy," said Hawkeye with a nod.

“Exactly,” Mustang said. “Hawker isn’t subtle either. He doesn’t want anyone seeing what he has.”

“Agreed,” Patch said. “The weapons and vehicles they have? Something is different about them. How long would it take to get the proper clearance from Fuhrer Grumman?”

“Too long,” Mustang said. “Even using his new transit system, it would take at least two days.”

“There is another option,” Patch said. “It’s not technically legal, but you’re not exactly a stranger to doing things outside of established channels, general.”

Mustang stared at Patch and said, “What are you suggesting?”

“This nation, it has no night vision systems, correct? No motion detectors, security cameras? Patrols are simple two-man affairs, maybe even vehicles or horses for wider distances?” Patch motioned to the Dead Six. “We have experience in getting in and out. Even Parker, for what that’s worth.”

Mustang turned to The Master. “The Provisional Authority -- ”

"Has no input on what is obviously an internal matter for the Amestrian military," the Master said, going to for the door. "As it stands, I have work to handle in my own office. I don't think I will be able to speak to you again until tomorrow, Gen. Mustang. Good day to you all."

As Gunner and Bruiser closed the doors behind The Master, Mustang turned to Parker. “You realize that if this fails, we could all wind up in very deep trouble for this? It could destroy your careers.”

Parker grinned. “We’re dead, remember? We don’t have any careers to destroy.”

* * *

The hard part of the prep had been getting clothes Dead Six could use to rub in the sand and dirt from the area around the Testing Range. They'd found some through the old beggars from the area, buying their light colored robes and paying them in loaned cenz from Mustang. (Not that the beggars had complained about getting some money, even if it meant selling the clothes off their backs.) Rubbing in the sand and dirt wasn't so hard either -- getting the right tones was the difficult part. The trick to good camouflage was breaking up patterns: Too much shade here, to light a color there, and even a rent-a-cop might spot you.

Hoods up, Dead Six crawled toward the edge of the perimeter and waited. The sun was already going down, and Deadeye checked how they all looked from a distance. Their patterns made them look like more piles of sand and dirt. Perfect for getting past the perimeter. Laying down, he crawled up and nodded. Time to move.

The team ignored the sensation of grit and dust slowly working into their clothes. As the sand started to chill, they ignored the cold creeping into their bones. That was the great irony of a desert: The same thing that made it an oven in the day turned it into a meat locker at night. But that was fine, as they'd all experienced the desert before. They knew how to work that to their advantage.

The approached diagonally from the main road to the base. There were only so many soldiers that could stand post, meaning there were only so many posts on the perimeter. Angling in, they positioned themselves a few hundred yards away from where they'd met PFC. Sherman.

They paused just before crossing the perimeter. They waited and listened for anything that meant they had to worry about trouble. Moving ahead, they once more paused when they were sure they crossed the perimeter line. Deadeye and Hotwire stood up in their Amestrian uniforms; as long as they looked like they were following orders or doing what they were supposed to, no one was likely to question them. Making sure they looked presentable, the two went off into the base.

The base was laid out in a grid pattern, the same as a base in any universe. They saw a few lone soldiers walking about. They remembered the Amestrian ranks well enough to know which ones were officers, and saluted if they came across the odd lieutenant or higher. There were a few lampposts around the base, keeping the area's main roads and paths lit up during the night. Keeping clear of the clubs, they made their ways to the warehouses and hangars. They were silent as they surveyed the walls, trying to spot the perfect place to get in.

Their efforts didn’t disappoint. One of the hangars had some worn wire around the top -- someone had failed to properly attach the wire to the metal posts sticking out on top the concrete. Glancing around, the pair didn’t see anyone coming their way. Putting his back against the wall, Patch folded his hands together, knelt down, and boosted Hotwire up the side of the wall. Clearing the wire away enough to move through, Hotwire gave Patch a thumb's up before dropping down on the other side.

She scanned the area behind the wall. There was nothing obvious around the building, nothing that screamed “SUSPICIOUS”. There were no bestial howls of animal-human hybrids bound by unholy power. No circles that turned innocent people into monsters. Just a hangar with one window next to a side door. Looking around again, she pressed her hand against the window and grinned. Another thing that was the same in any universe: Building maintenance didn’t exist.

Pushing the window open as slow as she could, Hotwire slipped into the hangar and looked around. There were no lights on, meaning she had to risk using a penlight. Shining the beam around the hangar, she was struck by the vehicle in front of her.

It was a tank, at least going by the basic rules of what a tank should look like. It was an armored vehicle on treads, with a central turret atop the chassis. What troubled her was the design of the armor. It was angled, sloped on the turret from cast steel. That didn’t mesh with what Hotwire had seen of Amestrian tanks, of boxy targets that begged for anti-tank weapons to take them out.

Moving inside the driver’s compartment, she observed the controls. There were proper control surfaces inside, steering levers and speed gauges in their proper positions. She moved to the turret and saw the radio bustle behind the commander’s seat. The turret was cramped, all tank turrets were. That couldn’t stop her from noticing it was designed so that the gunner, loader, and commander could all move in concert with each other.

Moving out of the tank and closing the hatches, she scanned the hangar and saw a similar tank farther down. This one was different, smaller with lighter armor. There was still enough space in the turret to move around effectively in the turret, and again the radio bustle allowed the commander to keep abreast of the battle around them. Jumping out, she surveyed the pair of tanks together.

She compared this to what she knew about Amestris. They had equivalent technologies to roughly the 1930s. They still used bolt-action rifles and SMGs for their forces, along with water-cooled machine guns. This didn’t match with the tanks she saw in front of her. They were clearly different classes, a heavy and light tank. They bore cast steel armor, something that took trial and error to develop. It wasn’t that you couldn’t experiment, but it took more than a few tests to come up with the right alloy composition.

The worst part were the radio layouts. Tanks at this developmental point were only just installing radios, and even then only in command vehicles. Both of these tanks had their own radios; both for communicating with other tanks, and as an intercom for the crew. Something about this was setting off alarms in her head, this was too advanced for Amestris, and from the reaction of the base personnel they weren’t associated with the MVTF in any way.

Moving back out of the warehouse, she set the window back and clambered up the wall. Setting the wire back in place, they went back through the base. Keeping themselves apart and acting like they had something to do, they breezed past the small crowds at the clubs and went back for their entry point.

They were about to start crawling away when they heard a motor in the distance. Dropping down and praying they wouldn’t get run over, the commandos listened as an off-roader came from their left and stopped. Daring to look up, Parker saw the wheels were half a foot from Patch’s hand.

“I can’t believe this,” a female voice said. “Double guards for the next week? Now we won’t get anything on Friday either.”

“Count your blessings, you could be stuck like Sherman and Fokker,” another female voice said. “Plus, you heard what the general ordered. Soon as you take care of what you need to tomorrow, you can sack out for the day.”

“I wouldn’t have to if that idiot Mustang didn’t need to show up,” the first voice said. “What got a stick up his ass that he had to come asking around? No one’s cared enough to show up before.”

“Couldn’t tell you, the second voice replied. “Can’t say I’m surprised. It wasn’t a secret that he’s had his eye on the top seat for a while now.”

“What, you think he’s angling for Grumman now?” The first voice let out a dark laugh. “That explains that pathetic mustache he’s trying to grow.”

“Can’t argue with you,” the second voice said. “Alright, there’s nothing here. Let’s move on to the next sector O’Malley.”

As the off-roader pulled away, the commandos waited. After a half-hour, they started crawling back to their insertion point. The truck was still there, Fuery and Falman acting like they were busy changing a tire. Falman looked up as he saw the team stand. “What happened?”

“Long story,” Hotwire said, clambering onto the truck. “Just get us back to the headquarters, now.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 6**

* * *

The teams had gathered in the conference room again, The Master and Lakhan joining them. It wasn't that surprising to have them together for a meeting like this, but what _was_ was the fact that The Master had a fluffy pink dressing gown on. All of Dead Six was busy staring at it, up until Mustang cleared his throat and said, "You're sure about what you saw?"

“More than sure,” Hotwire said, nodding. “Those designs are beyond what Amestris should have available to it. You’re still using riveted armor designs without the benefit of sloped or angled armor. Both of those tanks were cast steel armor designs, and I’m certain one was a heavy tank design.”

Lakhan rubbed at his eyes and said, "I'm sorry, how is this worth any concern? They were different tanks, that isn't what we're concerned with."

“It might be something else,” Havoc said, puffing away. “For once, I’m agreeing with Parker.”

“Nod,” Parker said, turning to The Master. “Who else would drop designs like that in a world that didn’t have them?”

“Aw crap,” Breda said, his eyes getting wide. “Didn’t we send that alchemist out there? The one from the research lab?”

“Wattsworth, you're right." Havoc tapped off a long trail of ash as he spoke. "Shit, we sent her to a Nod stronghold."

“No, we can use this,” Parker said. “State alchemists, they respond directly to the Fuhrer when he orders them, right?” Mustang nodded. “We just need to order her here. Hawkeye, you’ll need to check her over. Nod likes to tattoo their people, make sure it’s clear who’s in charge.”

Mustang nodded again. "I'll call Central about this now," he said. "If we can confirm this, that's one less obstacle to Ishvalan rebuilding."

"I'll tell my people as well," The Master said, somehow still looking dignified in his cozy nighttime apparel. The whiplash of it was starting to hurt the commandos. "They should know to avoid going near this base for fear of capture."

“Just don’t make it obvious,” Mustang said. “The last thing we need is Hawker cluing in that we’re on to him.”

"I will tell them that the area is contested, that we must focus on rebuilding our own homes and lives," replied The Master. Bowing, the Ishvalan elder went for the door, leaving the rest to think over their next move.

“Here’s my question,” Fuery said. “Is it all the base, or just a select portion of it? The soldiers in Central had no idea their leadership was working in conjunction with the homunculi.”

"No chance they aren't all in on it," Deadeye said. "The base is isolated, and if Hawker is Nod you can be sure they all are. They could work at their own pace too, moving through the ranks to make sure they get their pick of who to grab next. On and on, until it's a Nod foothold in Amestris."

"Meaning we probably caught them just in time," Parker said. "That alchemist that was sent there, is she any good?" The four men who knew “Wattsworth” shook their heads. "Good, that means Nod doesn't have any decent understanding of the subject."

“There’s a bigger problem,” Gunner said. “The diplomatic team, if they get here and Nod’s involved-”

“They can sabotage the operation,” Parker said. “Clever bastards.”

"MV-2 wouldn't be able to go into the multiverse with a new Ishvalan crisis on hand," Hawkeye said. "We'd be behind in technology, organization -- Nod would have us in the stocks."

“Then let’s be thankful we caught’em now,” Bruiser said. “Daft bastards won’t know what’ll happen when we put one over on them instead. Nice change of pace.”

The commandos laughed. Havoc couldn't blame them. From what Rainbow had shown, Nod almost always had GDI scrambling against infiltrators and insurgents. They constantly executed secret plans and ploys that GDI only realized too late. The idea that Six could get ahead of Nod for a change? It must've been one they ate up with relish.

"Good job today Dead Six," Mustang said, grinning as he stood up. "Go and get some rest, don't worry about making breakfast. You can all sleep in if you want."

Gunner stretched out his arms, exaggerating his yawn as he stood up. "Well sir, far be it from humble servants as us to turn down such fine hospitality," the big commando said.

As Dead Six left the room, Mustang realized Lakhan wasn’t moving. “Something wrong?”

Lakhan sat, staring at Dead Six as they went for their beds. “What if it isn’t Nod? How does that explain what they saw?”

Mustang shook his head. “If it isn’t Nod, well I can’t answer that right now. All I think we could do is try to figure out what it is. If this alchemist can prove Parker’s point, we’ll at least be ahead of something for a change. I don’t know about you, but I’d personally like that once in my life.”

Lakhan shook his head. "Maybe," he said. "I need to talk to a friend. He might be able to give us some guidance on what else this may be."

Mustang was silent for a moment, then asked, "How is he?"

"He does what he can," Lakhan said. "I've told him the dangers of his current residence, but he says the eastern regions need whatever help they can receive."

"That man is incurable," Mustang said, smiling.

Lakhan nodded as he went for the door. "What doctor is?"

* * *

Whitworth was adjusting her gauntlets when there was a knock on her door. Opening it, she saw the two corporals, Kerry-Ann O’Malley and Alma Cole-Derrier. Alma shot to attention and said, “Good morning ma’am. Slight change of plans today, Gen. Hawker received orders from Fuhrer Grumman to take you into the Ishvalan capital.”

Whitworth blinked. “The Ishvalan capital?”

“Yes ma’am,” Alma said. “You’ll receive further instruction once we arrive at the Provisional Authority.”

"Oh, yes, thank you. Give me a moment," the lieutenant said. Shutting the door to her room, Whitworth loosened her gauntlets and slid them up into her sleeves. She might have been struggling these past weeks, but she wasn't about to forget that an alchemist never went anywhere without their tools. Following Alma and Kerry-Ann outside, she entered the backseat of a staff car and was soon bouncing through the desert. An errant thought careened through Whitworth's mind, wondering if this was the same car that brought her to the base.

Kerry-Ann whistled as they drove, window down to try and help with the already-rising heat. “Funny. Didn’t think I’d ever see an Ishvalan back in Ishval after the war.”

Alma glanced at Kerry-Ann. "You didn't believe Mustang when he said he'd see their lands rebuilt?" she asked.

“I don’t believe anything that stuffed shirt says,” Kerry-Ann said. “Everyone knows he wanted the top seat. Hell, who’s to say Grumman’s counter-coup wasn’t to keep Mr. Fireball from taking power?”

Alma rolled her eyes. “I thought you hated Bradley.”

“I do,” Kerry-Ann said, shrugging. “Doesn’t mean I like Mustang.”

Whitworth scowled and said, “You’re speaking about a superior officer, corporal. A hero of the Ishvalan War at that.”

Kerry-Ann looked like she’d been slapped across the face. Whitworth was pleased that Alma at least knew her place and said, “Yes ma’am, it won’t happen again ma’am.”

Kerry-Ann nodded, but thought, “ _Not when you’re in earshot at least._ ”

The rest of the drive was quiet, the car bouncing some more until they arrived at the outskirts of the city. Whitworth shook her head, watching as they drove through the neighborhoods. In her eyes, the Ishvalans eyes were a people who weren't ready for their own governance. They still lived in buildings made of dried mud, most without electricity or running water. She didn't fault them for their rebellion, but she couldn't believe they could be trusted with self-determination.

Alma saw a city completely different from that. She saw mothers and their children out in the markets finding food for dinner. Young couples courted in the Ishvalan way, thinking they were alone as a family matriarch watched from afar. Groups of older men talked with each other of the business of the day, anything from the price of watermelon to the railroad leading to Xing.

Kerry-Ann was of a pragmatic mind, watching the buildings for potential threats. She scanned the people looking for suspicious behavior: eyes lingering on the car too long, moving to hide something under their clothes, even the way they walked through the streets. Just because Ishval was considered safe didn't make it clear. The appearance of Mustang and his staff at the base told her all she needed to know.

Pulling up to the headquarters of the Provisional Authority, they were met by Capt. Hawkeye and a lieutenant with short-cut brown hair. “Lt. Whitworth, welcome to the Ishvalan Provisional Authority. This is Lt. Aviv, she’ll be assisting with this procedure. Corporals, this will take some time. You can both go into the market if you want, I recommend you return before 1300.”

“Ma’am,” they both said, snapping to attention before walking off. They didn’t notice the figures on the rooftops watching them.

Following Hawkeye into the building, Whitworth noticed Aviv was of a darker skin tone. She almost looked like an Ishvalan, she was only missing the white hair and red eyes.

“Fuhrer Grumman is taking an inventory of state alchemists in the region,” Hawkeye said, lying through her teeth. Not that Whitworth knew. “As Gen. Mustang is the closest superior who is also an alchemist, it was determined you would take your inventory here.”

“Of course ma’am,” Whitworth said. “Whatever the Fuhrer orders.”

Following Hawkeye and Lt. Aviv into a small office, Aviv stood by the door as Hawkeye turned to Whitworth. “First, how long have you been at your current post?”

Whitworth kept her face placid as she answered, “Nine months ma’am.”

Hawkeye nodded. “Has there been any alchemic experimentation ordered by Gen. Hawker since your arrival?”

Whitworth shook her head. “No ma’am, he’s only had me making simple training exercises since my arrival.” She tried not to let on that those exercises had been poor efforts by the standard of any alchemist.

Aviv spoke up. “Have you noticed any activity on the base that would indicate a threat to the peace efforts in Ishval?”

Whitworth spun around. “No, nothing of the sort.”

“This is why we’re taking the inventory,” Hawkeye said, drawing Whitworth back down. “After what happened on your last mission, we need to figure out what might have slipped through the cracks.”

“Of course ma’am,” Whitworth said, nodding.

Aviv came down with another hammer blow. “We’ll need to make a physical examination as well.”

Whitworth blinked. “A…physical examination?”

“We’ve found that alchemists who tattoo transmutation circles on their bodies have a higher chance of psychological instability,” Aviv said. “The Fuhrer wants to hold state alchemists to a higher standard. Understandable, given the incidents with Shou Tucker and Solf Kimblee.”

Whitworth shuddered. Those two names had become infamous among state alchemists, bywords for the abuse of power that state alchemists were always accused of being two steps away from. If the Fuhrer wanted word that she was still valuable, then she’d do whatever it took.

* * *

"This is different from the western provinces," Alma said, voice wistful as she moved through the stands and stores. "Everything out there almost looked like you could be in East or South City. This is Ishval, I mean really and truly Ishval."

“Yeah, real beautiful,” Kerry-Ann said, rolling her eyes. “I can’t believe Mustang let them set a place like this up so close to his headquarters.”

“The war is over, Kerry-Ann,” Alma said, stopping in front of a shop serving fresh flatbread and cooked meats. “You don’t need to act like we’re going to be ambushed anymore. Two plates please?”

The man behind the counter went to work as Kerry-Ann groaned and said, "Yeah, that's why Mustang showed up saying the Ishvalans want to take the land. Face it Alma, they still hate us."

Alma shook her head, looking around the market and saying, “If they hated us, why haven’t they thrown us out?”

Kerry-Ann shrugged. “Cenz talk.”

The man behind the counter nodded to the pair, putting a plate of fresh flatbread and hot slices of meat down. He put two small bowls beside their plates, half-filled with a dark red dip for the bread. Alma nodded, smiling as she dug in. Ishvalan food was something she'd always been curious about. Being posted to 15 was an irony, leaving her unable to learn any Ishvalan dishes right in the heart of the land. Then the Ishvalan people had returned, bringing new life back to their culture. Alma savored the tastes, the seasoning on the meat mixed with the tang of the flatbread dipped in the sauce.

Kerry-Ann had different opinions on Ishval, watching the man behind the counter with cautious eyes. Amestris had nearly destroyed the Ishvalan people, and to her that meant they had every right to be hateful. She only drew small drops of the bread into the sauce, not wanting to risk being poisoned. She only swallowed the meat when she'd chewed it to the point there was no suspicious tastes. She kept watching the man as he sliced and carved the meat in the back, eyes locked on the knife to make sure it wasn't about to come at her.

Neither one noticed Deadeye or Miles on the rooftops above them. They didn’t realize Parker and Gunner were a half-block away acting like MPs. Their movements, their actions, the looks on their faces were scrutinized by the commandos. Parker wasn’t stupid, the Brotherhood was the out-and-out threat to the Amestrians. He wouldn’t let Nod become another one.

"Excuse me," Alma said to the man behind the counter. "How do you make this?"

The man chuckled and asked, "You want a job?"

Kerry-Ann scoffed. "Don't tempt her, she might just do it," she said between bites.

“Ignore her for now,” Alma said. “I’ve never had Ishvalan cuisine before. I’d like to know how to prepare this dish. What do you call it?”

The man blinked. “Meat and bread? The key is the sauce. Here, let me show you.”

Miles watched as the corporal talked with the shop owner. "Do you think Parker's being overzealous?" he asked.

"Normally? Yes," Deadeye said as he kept his eye locked on the pair. "In this case, our concern should be how right could he be. The diplomats will need to have a baseline of order to work with. If it looks like the Provisional Authority is on shaky ground? Especially with that Brotherhood lot running about? They might weight in favor of Amestris to Ishval's detriment."

“There will be an Ishvalan police in three months,” Miles said. “That seems reasonable.”

“Police sure. What about the courts?” Deadeye watched as the brown-haired corporal leaned in to watch the man behind the counter grind something in a pestle. “If you’re still relying on the military to mete out justice, that just makes Ishval look weaker.”

Miles sighed, keeping his eyes on the red-haired corporal. "It's been difficult," he pointed out. "Many educated Ishvalans fled just before the war. Trying to bring them back to set up a system of courts and local governments has been a struggle."

“Pay them,” Deadeye said, his voice flat and tone direct. “You want them here? You need to give them a reason beyond being Ishvalan. Same for you, I’d wager.”

Miles couldn't say anything. He wasn't driven by a pride for his "people", he'd only been considered Ishvalan because of his eyes and hair. He'd come along because he was getting paid to do so, and orders were orders. Educated Ishvalans weren't so keen on the idea of coming back to a desert and trying to set up a new government. Not, at least, without some very good incentives along with the offer.

* * *

Whitworth tried to puzzle out the examination. Lt. Aviv had been thorough, looking for tattoos in places where even the most dedicated of alchemists wouldn't get them. Shaking those thoughts clear, she made her final adjustments to her uniform and followed Hawkeye and Lt. Aviv to Gen. Mustang's office. The general stood facing the window, not turning to greet her as he said, "Lt. Whitworth. Thank you for coming today. Please, sit down."

Whitworth nodded, taking a seat across from Mustang's desk. Mustang's back remained toward the lieutenant. "Tell me, how are you doing at your new post?" he asked.

Whitworth felt a lump in her throat before she could speak. "I've had to adapt, sir," she said. "Gen. Hawker doesn't seem very interested in alchemy. He's only had me running basic tests and drills."

Mustang’s eyes narrowed. “He hasn’t had you make any tests involving advanced alchemic techniques?”

“No sir,” Whitworth said, feeling more like a failure with each question. “He’s made no inquiries regarding alchemy, at least not directly.”

Mustang turned around and stared down at Whitworth. “Have you noticed anything about Gen. Hawker or the base personnel that strike you as unusual?”

“Sir?” Whitworth was caught off guard by that, trying to figure out the answer. “What do you mean by unusual?”

"Are they doing anything that isn't considered typical of the military?" Mustang said. "Actions that strike you as being different from the soldiers in your last post."

Whitworth froze. Was her new command so unusual? She hadn’t had much interaction with her old command in Zumcam. After seeing how Capt. Havoc’s squad had acted, she couldn’t say they were any worse than what she’d seen in Area 15. “No sir,” she said. “I can’t say they are that strange compared to the rest of the military.”

Mustang looked behind Whitworth. The rookie alchemist couldn’t see Hotwire shake her head: Whitworth didn’t have any Nod tattoos. “Very well. Lieutenant, please step outside and wait for a few moments? I need to speak with Capt. Hawkeye and Lt. Aviv.” Whitworth shot up to attention and smartly walked back out of the room. Keeping his voice low, Mustang said, “If nothing else, she’s proper.”

“She’s not Nod either,” Hotwire said. “Every Nod corpse we found that committed suicide had the tattoo on their body, typically the base of the neck.”

"And that convinces you she's not Nod?" Hawkeye said, shaking her head. "That sounds like a very flimsy way to determine if someone's a Nod agent."

“It’s still the best way we can go for now,” Hotwire argued. “If she doesn’t have the tattoo after nine months, the best odds are she isn’t Nod.”

"Then we have to presume Hawker isn't either," Mustang said with a sigh as he leaned back in his chair. "Which means we still don't have an answer on how they developed those tanks."

A thought flashed through Hotwire’s mind, but given what she knew about Amestris? It couldn’t have been right.

"What about Whitworth sir?" Hawkeye asked. "She still thinks she's here for some kind of evaluation."

“Well I am a national hero, a brigadier general, and a state alchemist,” Mustang said. “Whitworth can show us what she’s made of here.”

* * *

The cart bounced across the road, leading Lakhan deeper into the eastern provinces. His head was bowed low, appearing as a man in prayer. It was a vain hope, he supposed, believing Ishvala would hear the prayers of one like him. He had thought long ago that his god wouldn’t accept the prayers of a man who had turned his back on his deity. He didn’t deny it, the fact that he’d eschewed the teachings of his faith to take his revenge.

The Brotherhood, in a way Lakhan could envy them. They didn’t bear the literal marks of his sins, but they were about to go down the same path he had. He couldn’t bear the idea that more Ishvalans were about to throw themselves down a path of self-destruction.

It wasn’t a love of Amestris that made him want to stop them. He still couldn’t forgive the military for what they did. The fact that he was working so close with Roy Mustang to do it stung all the harder. He’d heard about the damage wrought by the Flame Alchemist from other Ishvalans during his travels through Amestris. Entire neighborhoods destroyed in a day, in a way artillery hadn’t been able to. It was part of what had driven Lakhan to seek him out in his previous life.

No, it was his fear for Ishval’s future that made him want to stop them. If Ishval was going to stand on its own, it needed to forgo the search for vengeance. Killing more Amestrians wasn’t going to do that. Starting another war would destroy what they had started to rebuild. He could accept that working with the Amestrians was the only way to do that. If the Brotherhood was endangering that, he had to do what he needed in order to protect his people.

The journey to his old “associate” was a ditch effort to try and shed some light on these men. He knew the eastern provinces were more traditional, and some of the strongest holdouts against the state. They managed to kill the most state alchemists out of any of the Ishvalan regions. It was only the final mass offensive of the Amestrian military that ended the war by driving into the east.

He scanned the area and felt the desolation weigh down on him. The East was essentially part of the Great Desert, with only a few scattered small cities through the region. The rest was isolated oasis villages, small farmsteads, all of them marked by the war in some way. He’d heard The Master and his staff talk about what Dead Six had said. How they needed to bring jobs and infrastructure to Ishval to give the men a reason not to fall to groups like the Brotherhood. All good to hear, harder to implement.

“It’ll be another day,” the cartman said. “We’ll stop small inn, ten miles up the road. They’ve got warm beds and good food.”

“Fine,” Lakhan said, still staring down. He wasn’t going to argue with the man bringing him out this far anyway. Settling against the side of the cart, he shut his eyes and let the bumps rock him to sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 7**

* * *

As the sun started to dip, Mustang walked up to an exhausted Whitworth. She handled the most initial tests fine, making simple geometric shapes with basic transmutation circles. It was her personal style of alchemy that concerned him. The principles underlying her alchemy were solid, and to Mustang there was no reason they should give her trouble.

"Whitworth," he said, walking up to her, "How long have you been using this type of alchemy?"

“Three years sir,” Whitworth said, snapping to attention. “I’ve only been a certified state alchemist for a year and a half though, sir.”

“ _Just before the coup,_ ” Mustang thought. “Have you been struggling recently?”

Whitworth's face fell as she answered, "Yes, sir. There was an operation I was involved in. I…I didn't live up to the expectations of an officer during it, sir."

“With a Capt. Havoc?”

Whitworth looked up in shock. "How did you know, sir?" she asked.

“Havoc’s part of my staff, and a close friend.” Mustang looked across the field back toward the city. “He told me the alchemist leading the second team forgot one of the primary tenets of being an alchemist.”

Whitworth blanched and said, “Forget? Sir, what did I forget?”

“Alchemists are for the people,” Mustang said. “I’ll admit, a lot of state alchemists forget that’s one of their guiding creeds. Being part of the military, we run the risk of forgetting that in the course of our duties.”

“But we’re part of the military sir,” Whitworth said, sounding desperate. “Don’t we serve the people by carrying out our duties?”

Mustang bit back his answer. Whitworth still didn't know about Father or any of Amestris's secrets. He took a minute to think before he replying, "The people, yes. In Ishval, we didn't serve the people. We oppressed and murdered them. Sometimes you won't know the difference until you're faced with the kinds of orders that go against what being an alchemist means." Sighing, Mustang nodded back toward his staff car. "C'mon, let's get you back to your people."

It was a short ride back into the city, but Whitworth was lost in her thoughts. Had she forsaken her duties as an alchemist? She was only ever focused on rising through the ranks -- she hadn't thought that her responsibilities as an alchemist would be so different. After all, she was sitting next to an accomplished state alchemist who'd climbed to the rank of Brigadier General, commanding the reconstruction of Ishval in the process. What made his ascent through the ranks so different?

Seeing Alma and Kerry-Ann waiting, Whitworth got out of the car and snapped to attention. “Will there be anything else sir?”

Mustang shook his head as he stepped out of the car. "No, I think we're done for today lieutenant," he said. "You're good to go back to your base."

Giving a crisp salute, Whitworth marched toward her car. Getting inside, she slumped in her seat as Alma drove out of the plaza. The corporal asked, "How was the evaluation, ma'am?"

Whitworth didn't look up as she answered, "I don't know."

Kerry-Ann shrugged. "Well it was Mustang, right?" she said. "I hear the guy hates paperwork. He'll probably give you a decent eval and forget about you." Grinning, Kerry-Ann looked back to see Whitworth staring down at the floor of the car. "Uh, what I mean is -- "

Alma turned and glared at Kerry-Ann. The red-headed soldier tried to say something, but Alma's scathing look kept her silent all the way out of the city.

Mustang went back into his office and slumped into his chair. Hotwire grinned as she walked in with Hawkeye and said, "If that's the best alchemist they have on that base? Nod won't get anything valuable out of her."

Hawkeye sighed and said, “I have to agree sir. If that’s their best alchemist, then there’s no advanced alchemy being researched in Area 15.”

“Then we have another mystery on our hands,” Mustang said. “God, this is ridiculous. We don’t know anything about the Brotherhood of Righteousness, we don’t know why 15 has advanced technology, and there’s a new conspiracy active in Amestris we know next to nothing about. Wasn’t beating Father supposed to solve our problems?”

"Please," Hotwire said, taking a seat in front of Mustang's desk. "You don't solve problems by killing one monster. You're an alchemist, you should know that everything is spent trying to turn lead into gold or whatever it is you do. Look, this just means we can put 15 on the backburner for now and go back to focusing on Ishval. We can start our reports on what we've seen the past few days, and so far it's not bad. Ishval's got an economy, infrastructure work, police in training. It won't look bad for the Provisional Authority when the time comes to negotiate."

Mustang glanced at Hotwire. "You're good at compartmentalizing, you know that?" he said dryly.

  
Hotwire shrugged. "How else am I supposed to survive this job?"

* * *

The sky was darkening as the cart finally arrived in the village where “Mauro” had taken up. There was no sprawling market space like in the capital. No Amestrian MPs patrolling the streets, or developments to connect the village to the rest of the world. Just small dried mud homes and a few carts for the merchants of the town. The homes were closed up as night came on, mothers and old men calling the children inside for dinner and bedtime prayers. Lakhan’s expression softened a little. His mind flashed back to his own childhood, doing the same with his brother at the end of the day.

Putting the memories away, he went up to one of the remaining merchants. “Excuse me, I’m looking for a man. An Amestrian, scarred, he’s a doctor?”

The merchant chuckled, missing teeth peeking out from under his bushy untrimmed mustache. “Dr. Maulo? Let me put my things away, he lives near my home.”

Lakhan nodded, following the man through the dirt streets. “How are your people living, sir? Do they have enough?”

The man chuckled, hefting his cart with a grunt every few seconds. “We have enough, but it’d be nice if some of those ‘projects’ they have in the west would come out here. Maybe I could walk down a street instead of breaking my back on the dirt.”

Lakhan smiled and asked, “Want some help?”

The old merchant laughed. “This keeps me young, if I let someone else do this I’d turn into a doddering fool. Besides, Dr. Maulo keeps us all well as best he can.”

“I’m not surprised,” Lakhan said. “I’ve known Dr. Maulo from before he came here. He’s always felt being a healer was more important than anything else.” Leaving out the part where he’d used captured Ishvalan soldiers to create Philosopher’s Stones seemed like the polite thing right now.

The merchant was smiling as he put the cart into a small shack next to his house. Locking up, he led Lakhan to a small hut on the edge of the village. It was a one-room square, pieces chipped away from the years of wind and wear. A small light burned in the windows, appropriate for only one man inside. The merchant moved to knock at the door, but Lakhan shook his head. Handing the merchant some cenz, the old man grinned and hobbled away.

Turning toward the door, Lakhan knocked. He heard shuffling behind the door, then a set of bolts move before the door cracked open. “Is everything alright? Who’s hurt?”

“No one,” Lakhan said. “I understand Amestrians don’t mind receiving friends at night.”

The door opened, revealing an older man with a scarred face. He stared at Lakhan for a second, before he smiled. “Scar?”

“Not anymore,” Lakhan said. “My Master has given me a new name. I’m Lakhan now.”

Dr. Marcoh, former state alchemist and creator of philosopher stones, shook his head. “You don’t get to move away that easy. As long as I see that face, you’ll always be Scar.”

Lakhan couldn’t argue. He’d been Scar for so long, and had been so when he’d found Marcoh and disfigured his face. He supposed that if anyone had the right to call him by his old name, it was Marcoh.

“What are you doing here,” Marcoh said, motioning for Lakhan to come inside. “I’ve heard you’re busy in the capital with the Provisional Authority. Trying to rebuild Ishval into a nation on par with Amestris and Aerugo.”

“That’s the work of my Master and Gen. Mustang,” Lakhan said, looking the house over. There was a small wood stove in the corner, near a table and a single chair. A basin with a plate, a pot, and some utensils sat soaking after a meal. A small desk was set against under one of the two windows, a small lantern burning atop it. A few books were stacked on it, some medical texts along with personal journals.

“You seem well,” Marcoh said, pulling the chair from the desk for Lakhan. “Well enough that you don’t need to come out here just to visit an old man like me. Something’s happened.”

“You’re right,” Lakhan said, taking the seat. “Have you seen the Brotherhood of Righteousness in this area?”

Marcoh went to his basin, grabbing a pitcher and pouring two glasses of water. “I have seen them,” he said. “They come into the town ever few weeks, buying supplies from the shops. They’re somewhere out in the east, at the edge of the desert. At least that’s where they go when they pick up their things.”

“Out in the east,” Lakhan whispered. “Then they’d be few in number. We could send some MPs out to round them up.”

“It wouldn’t be that simple,” Marcoh said, shaking his head as he handed Lakhan a glass. “There’s still scars from the war littering the land.”

“An interesting way to say it,” Lakhan said, taking a drink before putting the glass on the desk. “Unless there’s something more.”

Marcoh paused, looking out the windows to see blinds and curtains drawn. “Much more. Come, we have a walk ahead of us.”

Throwing his hood up, Lakhan followed Marcoh out of the house toward the desert. Night in the desert was a different beast than the scorching day. When he was a boy, Lakhan had seen his father come back from long trips shuddering from the cold, his mother wrapping him up in blankets to keep him warm. Some unfortunates couldn’t make it to a warm fireside in time, and come morning they were usually founded huddled in on themselves shaking from the chill. The walk helped keep both men warm, the air breaking against their skin.

“We could use a little more work out here you know,” Marcoh said, leading Lakhan out of the village. “I’ve been in the hills, there’s gold peaking out from the caves.”

“You know no one would ever mine these lands,” Lakhan said. “Putting down towns and roads is different from reaching into creation and taking out what we desire.”

“They need more than goats and farms though,” Marcoh said. “You of all people should know that what a god says not to do and what men need to do?”

“We can survive without violating Ishvala’s creation,” Lakhan said. “We’ve done so since we first came to these lands. We can do without now.”

“Well someone is making use of the caves now,” Marcoh said, pulling his cloak close. “At least, they’re re-using them.”

“Weapons from the war?”

Marcoh nodded. “The great thing about deserts, the dry air doesn’t rust metal as quick as any other climate.”

It was another half-hour before they came up to the hillside, a rocky outcropping in the middle of the desert half-covered by sand. Climbing up the side, Lakhan moved slow into the mouth of the cave closest to them. Feeling his way through the rock walls, he had enough moonlight to see the ancient carvings of his people. The markings of the resting place of those who came before.

There was more though, shapes Lakhan knew well. The wood boxes and canvas wrappings were stained, wearing out, but still there. Moving close to one, he pulled the canvas away to see three Aerugan rifles under the canvas. He couldn’t read the boxes, but he had an idea of what they were. Mortar shells, grenades, belts of ammunition, maybe a shell or two. They didn’t have any artillery, the Aerugans wouldn’t have been able to slip that past the border. Now the shells, they had made fine improvised anti-infantry mines.

There were other boxes, boxes that had been torn open. Lakahn could tell they were recent, there were still footprints around them in the sand. The box was half-filled with rotting straw, but whatever had been inside was long gone. Lakhan turned and asked, “When did you find this?”

“Three days ago,” Marcoh said. “We buried one of the elders, but higher up on the hillside. I couldn’t figure out what, so I went to check this one.” Marcoh’s face turned grave. “But none of these boxes were opened.”

There was a clacking sound behind them. “Both of you, freeze. Slowly raise your hands, now.” Lakhan did so, but as he saw Marcoh do the same his world turned dark. As the bag was pulled over his head, he had to force himself not to fight back. Once his hands were bound, he felt the men who took him captive lead him out of the cave into the desert night.

Put on a cart, Lakhan bounced around a while before being hauled off again. He heard a door creak before he was led into a building. Voices surrounded him, young ones that were filled with anger.

“Where did you find them?”

“Near one of the caches.”

“We should kill them -- ”

“Not yet.”

“One of them is Amestrian!”

“He’s the doctor, he’s worth keeping alive.”

Lakhan took a chance and said, “Do we have a chance to speak on our on behalf?”

An authoritative voice spoke, still young compared to Lakhan’s though. “That depends. What can you say on your behalf?”

“My face will speak for me,” Lakhan said. “Remove this and see.”

There was a pause, then light blinded him. Blinking the flash away, Lakhan saw a group of young men surrounding him. At first their faces were hard, angry. Then realization swept across them all. There was awe, astonishment, even joy from one or two of them. Their leader, Lakhan guessed he couldn’t have been more than twenty-four, stared wide-eyed at him.

“You’re really him,” the man said. “You’re Scar.”

“Scar is dead,” Lakhan half-growled. “He died in the coup.”

“Of course, of course!” The leader of the group moved forward, Lakhan noting he wore a blade where a warrior-priest would. Only it wasn’t the blade of one. “You’re right, that man is dead. Welcome brother, welcome to our hideout.”

Lakhan scanned the faces around him. They were all younger men, the oldest couldn’t have been more than seventeen. They all looked at Lakhan with excited eyes, whispering to each other about the man in the middle of them. He heard parts of what they said, talking about how he’d killed state alchemists and brought Amestris to its knees.

“When they told me what happened in the capital, I thought it was a lie,” the leader said, clapping his hands on Lakhan’s shoulders. “Now I know it was. I know you’d want to see what we have planned.”

“Planned?” Lakhan asked, looking around at the group. Realization dawned. “You’re the Brotherhood of Righteousness.”

“We are,” the leader said, clapping his hands on Lakhan’s. “Ishvala’s peace upon you, brother. I am Aagney.”

“Aagney,” Lakhan said, nodding. “I’m -- ”

“Scar,” Aagney said, his smile getting wider. “I never thought I’d get to meet you, brother. I never thought I’d be able to see you in the flesh.”

“Is it true,” one of the men said. “Is it true that you killed the Iron Blood Alchemist?”

“Of course he did,” another man called out. “I was in the city when it happened, they went crazy because of it!”

“I almost thought you wouldn’t come,” the youngest said, Lakhan saw enough stars in his eyes to make the night’s sky. “Seeing you with the Provisional Authority, we were convinced you wouldn’t help us.”

“That’s what I’m here to do,” Lakhan said. “But you must understand, the one known as Scar died in Central City, during the same day King Bradley was killed.”

“Yes, of course,” Aagney said, a little too eager for Scar’s liking. “We knew there had to be a reason you were working alongside filth like Mustang and traitors like Miles. You’re trying to stop them from within.”

“I’m trying to rebuild the lands our people call home,” Lakhan said, glaring at Aagney. “How did you organize all this, where did you all come together?”

“The slums and camps,” Aagney said, looking down at the floor. “Some of us lost family to the war, others to our treatment during the exile. We tried to bear our pain, but then we learned that Amestris would still be in power over us. That we would only have a ‘provisional authority’, like we don’t deserve our own lands again.”

“These things take time,” Lakhan argued. “They -- ”

“Excuse me, I hate to interrupt,” Marcoh said, cutting through the air. “But can someone take this damn thing off my head!”

“I think you’re better off not seeing their faces,” Lakhan said, not taking his eyes off Aagney. “As I said, this can’t happen overnight. Mustang did sin, but he’s trying to atone. The same way I try to atone for my sins.”

“You were the only one of us who was willing to fight back,” Aagney said, holding up his fist. “Where the rest of Ishval huddled in defeat you fought on. You inspired us, all of us, that we shouldn’t give up!”

As the men around agreed, Lakhan shut his eyes. He tried to ignore their praises for his actions, extolling his killing as an act of strength. “Scar the Avenger”, he heard them say. “Scar, their hero.” Smiling as they told of how he killed Comanche, or Basque Gran, or Shou Tucker.

“I’m not some hero,” Lakhan finally said, silencing them. “I’m a fool, a monster who forsook his own god to gain vengeance. Do you know how I defeated Bradley? I fought beside Roy Mustang to accomplish it. I used the same alchemy we call sinful to end the power of Bradley forever. Hatred can only breed more hatred, and that is what you’re trying to achieve here. I know what it is to want to see the people who hurt us pay. To see them suffer as we’ve suffered. That will only bring down more pain on our people. You’re all still young, you still have a chance to avoid the path I’ve walked.”

  
“You’re still Scar,” Aagney said. “You set us on the path to getting our homeland back.”

“I did nothing like that,” Lakhan said. “I killed three alchemists before I was wounded by the Amestrians. If it wasn’t for their incompetence and mercy, I would be dead right now. It wasn’t alone that I killed Bradley. I fought beside the Amestrian alchemists that were there that day. And I told you, Scar is dead. My name is Lakhan.”

The room was silent, none of the men said anything. Aagney looked like he couldn’t understand what he’d just heard, like his mind had stalled out and was looking for traction. The rest of the men were looking at each other, trying to decide what to do now that they’d been rebuked.

“Very well,” Aagney said, finding his voice again. “The man called Scar died during the fighting in Central City. You, Lakhan, just came here to investigate the situation in the eastern regions for the Provisional Authority.”

It was the tone that made it clear. That told Lakhan these men wouldn’t listen. “I beg you,” he said, head down. “Before the god I have foresworn, I beg you to stop whatever you might try.”

“We will take you back to the village,” Lakhan said, nodding to the men. “You will both be left on the outskirts unharmed. However, if you pursue us or try to interfere with our actions again, we will treat you as our enemies.”

“Very well,” Lakhan said, head still down at the bag was shoved over his head. “May Ishvala forgive you for what you’ve done.”

“ _It isn’t what we’ve done,_ ” Aagney thought, watching as his men hauled the two out of the house. “ _It is what we will do._ ”Waiting until Lakhan and Marcoh were back on the cart, he turned to his men. “We prepared for this eventuality. Start moving.”

* * *

When Lakhan had the bag taken off, dawn was starting to break over the horizon. The cart was heading back out to the desert, the trio of men in the back keeping rifles on the pair. Pulling the bag off Marcoh’s head, Lakhan untied the doctor’s hands. “You alright?”

“I’ll be fine,” Marcoh said, rubbing at his wrists. “I don’t understand though. I’m an Amestrian, why let me go? Even if I hadn’t seen their faces -- ”

“You’re helping the people in the eastern provinces,” Lakhan said, adjusting his cloak. “Aside from that, they hate the military. They won’t hate a lone Amestrian that helps their people. Not until you give them a reason. Or the military does.”

“Speaking of,” Marcoh said, going to his hut. “There’s always good odds someone will come to me for something they woke up with.”

“Are you sure?” Lakhan asked, reaching out for Marcoh. “You’d be safer in the capital, under the protection of the Provisional Authority.”

“Meaning these people are left without a doctor,” Marcoh observed. “Until you can get actual doctors out here, these people will need someone to watch out for them. Take care, Scar. I’ll see you again.”

As Marcoh walked to his hut, Lakhan took a moment to try and understand what was happening. The Brotherhood, they were going to be a threat soon. One that Amestris and the Provisional Authority would have to respond to. Shaking his head, he went to the center of town. He’d find a cart, and he’d get back to the capital. He had a lot to tell his Master.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 8**

* * *

Gunner grunted as he glared at the paper in the typewriter. “Bloody tech disparities. I need a word processor, I haven’t used a typewriter since college!”

“I notice,” Patch said, proofing his own report. “You didn’t say you graduated.”

“I did,” Gunner said, grinning as he turned his head to the rest of the team. “I just had more vital exploits. Some of us had relationships to pursue.”

“Big talk,” Hotwire said. “Your hands don’t count as a ‘relationship’, Gunner.”

The commandos laughed, Gunner cracking a grin as he turned back to the typewriter. They were all working on their reports for the diplomats, gathered together to review each other’s work. Compiling the information they had on the Ishvalan Provisional Authority and the Amestrian military’s efforts. The work on the railways and roads, how the cities were being rebuilt. The training of their police and the connections the people had to their new government. They had only seen the region around the capital, that was fair. It was still a start for the diplomats. A foothold to ask about the rest of Ishval, and what the people wanted.

“So the good,” Patch said, flipping through his notes. “The Ishvalans have a stable initial government for their people’s needs. They’re training a police force, focusing on infrastructure projects that employ their people, and are willing to work with Amestris to accomplish their goals.”

“Then we have the bad,” Deadeye said. “They still don’t have any organized administration for education, judicial procedure or review, and no plans for what their government will be. They still aren’t sure if they’ll be a kind of protectorate of Amestris, Aerugo, or if they’ll go off on their own bloody way.”

“Aerugo only saw Ishval as a catspaw against Amestris,” Bruiser pointed out, waving his own notes. “If they take Ishval in as a protectorate or dominion, they have to foot the bill for the infrastructure and all else. We don’t even know if the Ishvalans would accept Aerugan assistance, not after they were abandoned to annihilation.”

“None of it matters if Ishval has no economy to stand on,” Patch said. “The railroad to Xing will only do so much, and only for so long. Eventually someone will get it in their head to built rail lines straight through the desert, without running through Ishval. If they have nothing ready after that, their people will be back to living in slums and plotting another rebellion.”

“Maybe Xing can assist?” Everyone turned to stare at Deadeye. “Emperor Ling is already a close friend of Grumman and Amestris. Xingese goods shipped through Ishval could have special caveats to the duties and taxes paid on them, even sweetheart deals making sure the Ishvalans get special rates and trade agreements.”

“Aerugo wouldn’t be able to say anything about it,” Hotwire mentioned. “Not after helping foment the insurrection in the first place.”

“What about a future government,” Patch said. “The diplomats will want to know what the plan is for a future Ishvalan state. The problem, we don’t have an answer for that.”

“Well the Master will have to step down,” Gunner said. “Can’t have a priest running a country. Place’ll turn out like Saudi Arabia.”

“Oy vey,” Hotwire grumbled. “Don’t remind me of that time.”

Deadeye grinned. “Are you referring to when Havoc told that Saudi colonel the reason they were having so many problems with Nod was because of how they treat women?”

“Which he was right about,” Gunner said, chuckling as he turned back to his typewriter. “Where is he anyway?”

“The good captain is observing the MPs again,” Patch said. “I don’t think he was very impressed with the last time he saw them in action.”

“When is that man ever impressed,” Deadeye said, reviewing his section of the report. “It is important to note though. So far many major positions are occupied by the warrior-priests. If that keeps up, Ishval may be at a disadvantage.”

“Then let me be devil’s advocate,” Bruiser said. “Who’s to say the warrior-priests aren’t good for Ishval? The people respect them, they listen to what they have to say, for all we know they could be the best thing for the Ishvalan people.”

“That isn’t how it’s done,” Patch said. “Religion and government have no place together, we know that.”

“We know that in our home,” Bruiser pointed out. “Here, we haven’t the right to say that the warrior-priests aren’t the best leaders for the Ishvalans. Until we can find a way to coax the expats back, the warrior-priests will have to fill that void.”

“That’s not our place to decide on, or the diplomats.” Gunner was firm as he spoke, typing away again. “We’ll point out that a high proportion of leadership roles in the Provisional Authority is made up of warrior-priests. That’s all we’ll do.”

“Then we need to point out that the warrior-priests are also keeping the Ishvalans from exploiting their resources,” Deadeye pointed out. “Fine, they want to respect their traditions. They’ll never be able to stand on their own without recognizing that there are resources beneath the ground they can use.”

“Selling them rather short,” Bruiser said. “They can stand on their own if they want.”

“And how long would Scotland stand on its own if it didn’t exploit whatever was around it,” Deadeye fired back. “You know I’d give anything to see an independent Scotland, but it can’t be independent unless it exploited the oil fields in the North Sea. The Ishvalans won’t even prospect on their territory for resources.”

“Local population are hesitant to explore mineral prospecting,” Gunner said as he typed. “Such exploitation conflicts with regional cultural and religious traditions. Another solid point to leave to the nice men in expensive suits.”

“We don’t even know how much their religion plays a role in their lives,” Patch said. The German got up and walked to the window. “We’re presuming that because their a desert culture with a brown-skinned population that they still let the warrior-priests walk over them. If we brought this opportunity up to the people, they might see it in a favorable light.”

“We’ll need to ask Rainbow if there’s any more information relating to Ishval’s religion,” Hotwire said. “We need to compare this to what we know from our world.”

“Investigation into local customs recommended,” Gunner mumbled, typing away. “Anything else we need to take into account?”

“We’ll need Havoc’s report,” Patch said. “Given he’s still out there, I can’t imagine we’re going to see anything good from his views.”

“Doubtful,” Deadeye said. “Though we knew that already.”

The door swung open, Parker walking in with a glare on his face. “Speak of the devil,” Gunner said, grinning as he leaned back in his chair. “How’d it go Havoc?”

“These idiots have no backbone,” Parker said, falling into an empty chair. “I saw two of those MPs afraid to stop a kid from stealing from one of the carts.”

“Considering a dead child was what started the civil war,” Hotwire said. “It doesn’t surprise me they’d want to be cautious.”

“Cautious and stupid are two different things,” Parker said, kicking his feet up on an empty space of the table. “I sat in on a meeting too. The Ishvalans were talking about planning out a new sewage system for their cities.”

Patch shrugged. “That doesn’t sound terrible.”

“It is when the Amestrians won’t actually tell them how to do it,” Parker said, his voice overflowing with bitter condescension. “There were two engineers in the room, but neither on said anything until they were asked by the Ishvalans. Who had no idea how to properly engineer a new sewer.”

“So the Ishvalans need to figure out what they want and the Amestrians need to same some control while they still have it.” Gunner turned away from the typewriter, still grinning. “Selling the Ishvalans a little short, maybe?”

“Unless those expats are coming back soon, Amestris needs to take responsibility for destroying this place. They gave Mustang enough of a budget to keep his garrisons paid, but they only loaned Ishval enough money for a railroad.” As Parker spoke, he read over the others work. “What about their police?”

“No courts they answer to yet,” Patch said. “And I’ve noticed that some of the trainees don’t seem to appreciate being taught by Amestrians.”

“Well that’s on them,” Parker said. “If the Amestrians aren’t willing to follow through on training them the right way, they’re setting themselves up for a problem.” No one in Dead Six argued the point.

“So we have one nation that won’t take responsibility in any meaningful way, and another that can’t stand on it’s own two feet,” Bruiser observed, reading over his notes. “That settles it, they need to talk to Aerugo and Xing then.”

“Recommend immediate dialogue with neighboring nations,” Gunner said, the typewriter clacking. “Well, that should do it for the outline. Who wants the draft?”

“I’ll take it,” Hotwire said. “How much longer are we here for?”

“Should be another three days,” Patch said.

“Bloody hope so,” Gunner said, handing the outline to Hotwire. “Got a project I need to get to.”

Deadeye looked up in surprise and asked, “You’re still doing that?”

“No reason not to,” Gunner said. “We’re getting more refugees too, but is Parliament actually funding the resettlement? Nope, they’re on their own.”

There was a knock at the door, the commandos reaching for their holsters on instinct. Patch moved for the door and asked, “Who’s there?”

“Friendly local florist,” Havoc said from behind the door. Pulling their hands away, Deadeye opened the door to reveal Havoc, fresh cigarette already smoking away. “So, how’re we looking?”

“Like a joke,” Parker said, shutting his eyes. “What’re you doing here?”

“Guess I’m checking on whether or not we’ll laugh,” Havoc said, bending down over the scattered notes. “You know, Aerugo and us don’t get along. Did you forget the part where we found their weapons in Ishvalan hands?”

“So? I’ve found American weapons in Nod hands,” Parker said. “Everyone’s got everyone else in their pockets at some point.”

“What he’s trying to say,” Patch chimed in. “Is that you’re already improving your relations with Aerugo. Bringing them in on this keeps them from destabilizing their northern border, forces them to work toward the goal you’d both want. A stable Ishval is more valuable than a desperate nation looking for someone to strike.”

“The Aerguan royal family decides that, that’s the problem.” Finding an ash tray buried under the papers, Havoc tapped some off and continued. “In case you haven’t noticed? That comic doesn’t have anything on Aerugo that you all could see.”

“So what,” Parker said. “Aerugo can’t be as bad as Malvin’s country.”

“Got me there,” Havoc said. “It’s still not the best place to be. There’s a growing movement to take the last of the king’s power away, and we all know that the Aerugan royalty will want to find ways to keep their hold on the country. Stirring up trouble in Ishval might be how they do it.”

“You’re not worried about Drachma?” Patch asked. “They were the ones who sent a battalion up against that giant mountain fort.”

“They claimed it was a rogue officer in charge of that,” Havoc said, with a look telling the commandos he didn’t believe the excuse. “I’m more worried about Creta. They like to supply the bandits out west, claim they’re supporting the simple Amestrian farmers oppressed by Bradley’s rule. Of course, they kinda had a point. Not that they realized it.”

“Then start simple,” Gunner said. “You all agree that Ishval needs to build itself up. You agree that the Ishvalan people need work, education, a functional government beyond what they have. Start from there, worry about the little things like tariffs and banned magazines later.”

“And what would you know about banned magazines,” Bruiser said, grinning. “Last I heard, they’re banned for a reason.”

“Well it’s probably safer with him than in the conference room,” Havoc said, leafing through the information. “Mual and the ILL are talking with the Provisional Authority.”

* * *

“It’s simple,” Mual said. “We must preserve what it is to be Ishvalan. The western provinces can seem more like you’re in Amestris, for example. We must remember who we are as a people as we rebuild, not allow the Amestrian military to determine what our future looks like.”

“And we can respect that,” Mustang said, sitting next to The Master. It was a curious array: One half of the table was split, Ishvalans of the Provisional Authority on one side, Mustang’s staff on the other. Across from them, the leading members of the Ishvalan Liberation League, centered on Mual. “It’s our progress we’re concerned about.”

“We need more than the promise of independence,” The Master said. “We need to form a plan. There must be a consensus among our people on the next steps in our future.”

“The people have spoken by flocking back to their ancestral homeland,” Mual said. “My own people in the desert cried with joy at their return. I can only imagine those in Amestris felt the same?”

“They did,” The Master said. “That doesn’t ignore the reality we face. Ishval needs to have more than ancestral lands. We must have a plan for our future.”

“Once the Amestrian military is gone,” Mual said, looking to Mustang. “You can’t deny that the image of Amestrian soldiers during the war has left many anxious to their presence in our lands again. We appreciate the steps taken by you to ensure that they are trained to avoid an aggressive posture toward the civilians. Despite this, the sights of Amestrian uniforms on our streets has left many desiring their departure.”

“I do have my orders sir,” Mustang said, his tone firm but calm. “Fuhrer Grumman instructed that we provide security and order in Ishval until the transition from the Provisional Authority to an independent Ishvalan government, whatever form it may take.”

“That is what we’re trying to do,” Mual argued, holding out his hand. “Without Amestrian interaction. My people have been ruled by Amestris for too long, had our beliefs ridiculed and stifled wherever we have found ourselves. We do have that right?”

“Perhaps we should focus on what is being done,” Hawkeye said, cutting through the discussion. “We do have a railroad being built toward Xing, that was one of the primary factors focuses of the Provisional Government and Amestris. What we need to know is what else we can assist with.”

“We still need a system of courts,” The Master said. “We know that our previous system of informal councils cannot stand for a rebuilt nation.”

“Can’t it?” Mual asked. Hawkeye couldn’t tell if it was a genuine reaction, or if he was playing the part he needed to. “Our people have always relied on the council system to handle disputes and crimes. There is no reason we can’t have it again.”

“Except that there is no longer a central authority to mediate if there is an unfair judgement,” The Master observed. “Logue Lowe is gone, Ishvala bless him.” The Ishvalans at the table, sans Miles, repeated the saying. “Even if another Grand Cleric is decided, what right would they have to keep authority over the police, or even the railroads?”

“We have guided our people since Ishvala created the world,” Mual said. “It was our leadership that inspired the people during the war.”

“Some of us don’t believe that the warrior-priests should have that authority,” Miles said, glaring at Mual. “Flawed as the Amestrian system is, some of our people might like the idea of not being told what to do by religious figures. Men are flawed, no matter what they wear in their vocation.”

There was a tension in the room, everyone felt it. Mual still appeared the quiet, contemplative man of the cloth. It didn’t hide the venom he gave Miles. Miles gave it right back, not breaking from Mual’s glare.

“Maybe we’re looking at this the wrong way,” Mustang said, cutting through the heavy feeling in the room. “We all agree that Amestrian courts aren’t right for the needs of the Ishvalan people. Military courts especially. We’ve been lucky that there haven’t been any mass disturbances or increases in violent crime. That won’t last forever, the next step needs to be developing an Ishvalan court system. We can at least come to an agreement there?”

“Of course,” Mual said. “But one made by Ishvalan hands, and Ishvalan hands alone.”

The Amestrians groaned. Miles wouldn’t stop glaring at Mual, doing so for the whole meeting. It was a clash, of an urbane Amestrian-Ishvalan in service to the military and a traditionalist warrior-priest of the homeland. “ _Miles is already known for wanting to be here,_ ” Mustang thought. “ _What will happen if any expats come into play?_ ”

There was a knock on the door, and a PFC stuck his head in. “Pardon me Gen. Mustang, but you have an important visitor. They need to speak with you and the head of the Provisional Authority.”

“Then perhaps a break is appropriate,” The Master said, rising. Everyone followed suit as he said, “Fifteen minutes, then we’ll resume.” Nodding to Mustang, The Master led the way to his own office. It was a simple place, free of the ranks and marks of office that Mustang had in his. There was a small desk and two chairs, a plain rug with the orange-and-black flag of the provisional government behind it.

Lakhan waited inside, bowing to The Master as the pair walked in. “I’ve found the Brotherhood.”

“I’m glad you came back safe then,” The Master said, bowing back before going to his desk. “What did you find?”

“They’re young, but organized,” Lakahn said, sitting in the chair in front of the desk. He smiled a little as Mustang was forced to stand. “They’re lead by a man named Aagney. He’s been raiding the leftover arms caches in the eastern regions, but his group was small. When I saw them, there were only enough to fill a small house.”

“Perfect,” Mustang said. “We can send the MPs out to take them into custody and hold them for the Provisional Authority.”

“I can’t recommend that,” Lakhan said. “They only let me leave because of who I was. Dr. Marcoh was lucky, he didn’t see their faces.”

“You met with Marcoh?” Mustang asked, eyes wide in surprise. “What happened, is he still alright?”

“He’s unharmed,” Lakhan answered. “If you go after the Brotherhood, they will fight back. Worse, I think Aagney was trained as a warrior-priest.”

“Impossible,” The Master said. “We contacted all the warrior-priests that accompanied the exiles. None of them in the east have been associated with the Brotherhood.”

"It's possible he never completed his training," Lakhan said. "He wore his blade on the same side as you or I. The way he carried himself, how he led his men. He was at the very least trained to be one of us."

“That doesn’t give him the right to try and undercut the authority we have here,” Mustang said. “I can organize the garrison nearest to them in the east, we can bring him and his followers in and cut this off at the root.”

"He won't go quietly," Lakhan said. "He and his followers looked on me with awe. What does that tell you?"

Mustang and The Master froze, looking to each other. The idea that someone wanted to follow in Scar’s footsteps against Amestris, to become a killer of not just state alchemists but any Amestrian in Ishval?

“Dead Six should be brought in to advise,” The Master said. “Once our discussions with the Liberation League end, we can consult with Parker and his team when we finish.”

Lakhan kept silent, the journey back had been tiring enough. He knew what Parker would say too, that they needed to eliminate the Brotherhood. That he could insert his team into the region and eliminate the Brotherhood in one night. That wasn’t what Scar or Mustang wanted, and it wouldn’t do any good for Ishval. He could accept arresting them, they were a danger to the peace of the region. If they were still active when the railroad entered the east, then they’d be focused on doing whatever they could to interrupt the construction. Unless the Brotherhood was dealt with, all three would be haunted.

* * *

“Well it’s simple,” Parker said, feet still up on the table as he spoke to Mustang. “We’ve gotta kill him.”

“ _And there it is,_ ” Lakhan thought, watching from the far end of the room as Mustang glared down at Parker.

“If we kill them we risk bringing more Ishvalans into their camp,” Mustang growled. “And don’t tell me we can just hide the bodies, there’d be too many questions that way.”

“Look, he said they’re gonna do something whether you want them to or not,” Parker said, nodding to Lakhan. “If Ishval doesn’t have any cops, you’re gonna have to be the one to enforce the law around here.”

“And we will,” Mustang growled. “We’ll bring them in properly, legally, and alive.”

“It won’t work,” Hotwire said. “Men like these will always have backup plans. Lakhan and this Dr. Marcoh saw their hideout and anyone in it. You’ve already said you want to stop them. Well, the odds are you can either lose a lot of soldiers and police, or lose a small group of terrorists. You asked for the advice my country learned? We learned that unless you neutralize the threat, it will come back again and again.”

“We were told Israel had found a way to coexist with their neighbors,” The Master said. “You found peace.”

“We found peace only after nearly the entire Gulf wanted us dead,” Hotwire said. “We had to decapitate the leadership of the terrorists in our country before we could be sure we were safe.”

“I can’t allow that,” The Master said, still calm but with an authoritative voice. “Unless there is no other choice, we will not kill them while they can still be arrested.”

“You’re setting yourself up to fail,” Hotwire said. “If they’ve been discovered they’ll go to ground. The time it will take to root them out and put this threat to bed will take too much time and money.”

“You’re risking sympathizers too,” Patch said, walking up to Hotwire as he kept an eye on The Master. “Some of your police trainees aren’t too fond of being supervised by Amestrians. Did you make any background check of your recruits?” Silence from The Master and Mustang. “ _Verdammt_ , you brought them on without checking who they are.”

“We aren’t exactly overrun with potential recruits,” Mustang said. “You’re the ones always going on about hard choices from what I’ve read. You should be able to appreciate that we didn’t have a luxury of choice.”

“It’s one thing to ask if you’re making the right choice killing a man,” Deadeye said. “You didn’t make sure that the people you want to trust with protecting yourselves could do the job.”

“Forgive us,” The Master said, bowing his head. “I didn’t realize that we should have learned so quickly from other worlds. I will make sure that the lessons of another universe are more successfully implemented from now on.”

The commandos took a moment to collect themselves. The Master was right, they were treating this like they were training nationals from their own world. Amestris had no context for background checks of police or military recruits. The Ishvalans and Amestrians were still trying to navigate a new world together, and Dead Six was judging them like they were a GDI member-nation.

Parker, for his part, wasn’t about to let this piece of meat go. “Fine, you want to take them alive. What happens if they start firing on your people? Or if they launch an attack on the capital? What if it comes down to your people and the civilians you’re protecting? Them, or these Brotherhood jackasses?”

Mustang was about to answer when he paused and remembered why Parker was there. Taking a breath, he nodded. “Only when it comes to that, Parker. But not before.” Ignoring Parker’s glare, he turned to The Master. “Sir, with your permission I’ll begin organizing a response. Lakhan will guide us to the location, and we’ll have the most capable police recruits as part of the company responding to the threat.”

“Very well,” The Master said. “We’ll proceed at once.”

“Sir, I’d like to accompany,” Hotwire said. “At least to give advice on how to properly utilize the Ishvalan police in concert with the Amestrians.”

“I have no objections,” he said, turning to The Master. “Sir?”

The Master paused. He turned to stare at Hotwire, mentally gauging the situation before he felt comfortable answering. “Very well. You may accompany the detachment, but only as an advisor. Unless your life is endangered, you will leave this to our forces.”

As The Master and Mustang left the room, Parker glared at Hotwire and said, “Well that was a stupid move.”

“It’s better than nothing,” Hotwire said. “They aren’t going to accept what we have to say until they’re out of their own options. If I go along, we can at least keep them abreast of the best means to win over the population in Ishval.”

“Fine, but we’re still sticking around,” Parker said. “They just got found out, it won’t be long before the Brotherhood decides they’re going to strike.”

“Fine with me,” Hotwire said. Grinning she started disassembling her weapon to check it over. “It’s been a while since I went out with the police.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 9**

* * *

Havoc blew out some smoke, watching Parker march back to the headquarters. “Productive day?”

“Just had to tell two MPs to stop flirting with the locals and focus on their job,” Parker said, groaning. “Jesus, how did Amestris manage to even come close to annihilating these guys if your people can’t remember their training?”

“Don’t ask me, I was busy with Aerugo.” Tapping some ash away, Havoc stared out at the marketplace. “You understand why he’s like this, right?”

“I do,” Parker said. “It doesn’t mean I like it. The Columbians are finally making headway, but they aren’t letting their guard down against FARC.”

“It’s a little more personal for Mustang,” Havoc said. “I doubt any of those generals in Columbia were the ones who were doing the killing in the field.”

“He’s still gonna get someone killed,” Parker growled. “I don’t care how much these people have suffered, you don’t answer terrorists by playing soft.”

“What about them,” Havoc said, pointing to the civilians. “How are we supposed to be around them?”

“You protect them you idiot,” Parker said, glaring at Havoc. “What, you think I’m the kind of guy who says we should be bombing anywhere we find an old rifle? You don’t help people by killing them, you do it by killing the people who are actually a threat.”

Havoc shook his head. “That sounds wrong, Parker. I don’t know why, but it sounds like you’re missing something there.”

“Well whatever I’m missing, it didn’t come up against Nod.” Leaning against the building, Parker watched the crowd ebb and flow through the market. “I do understand that Mustang’s got a hangup, okay? But he’s gotta start getting past that if he wants to handle the Brotherhood setting up. And whatever the fuck is going on in that damn base.”

“I’ll agree on 15,” Havoc said, taking another drag. “Whatever that place is, I don’t think we can trust them.”

“Agreed.” Still scanning the market, Parker noticed a cluster of people forming in the center of the place. “Hey, you see that?”

“Let it go,” Havoc said. “They’re not getting rowdy and no one’s wearing any masks.”

“Still feels different,” Parker said. Staring at the crowd, he noticed it was mainly younger men talking with each other. The women and older men would drift close, but then back away, keeping younger children distant. “We need to get in there.”

“Wait, what?” Havoc asked, moving to keep pace with Parker as he moved. “Okay, what part of ‘Ishvalans don’t like soldiers’ still doesn’t get into your head?”

“Well guess what, Scar and Miles aren’t here,” Parker said, diving into the market crowd. “You want to be the one who tells Mustang that something happened and you didn’t try to stop it?”

Havoc growled. “Fine, but you’re the one taking the heat if you’re wrong.”

Moving through the crowd, Parker noticed the men starting to disperse when he got close. The shopkeepers stared at him and Havoc like they were punk rockers dropping in on the opera. The thickest group of Ishvalans was centered around a pair of young men. Parker could hear snippets of what they called out for, “Reclaiming the ancient lands of our ancestors”.

“Great, they’re still here,” Parker said, turning back to Havoc. “Alright, fine, they’re not up to anything major.”

“Thank you,” Havoc said, looking like he’d just dodged a roaring train by half a hair. “I’m gonna grab something to eat at the canteen, you can come along if you don’t feel like risking an incident today.” Glaring at Havoc, Parker turned and started walking toward the headquarters.”

“That was too close,” one of the Brotherhood men said to his partner. “We need to move to the next market.”

“That’s fine,” the partner said, smiling as the crowd started to disperse. “If even a fraction of these men arrive, we’ll have enough.”

* * *

It had taken half a day to get out to the eastern garrison, a small convoy of Mustang’s staff car and three trucks. One was filled with the best police trainees the Ishvalans had to offer, under the leadership of Maj. Miles and two of their trainers. The trainees looked nervous, and Hotwire wasn’t surprised. They had no proper uniform of their own, only Amestrian trousers and the orange-and-black sash of the Ishvalan people. She’d have to mention creating an Ishvalan uniform when they got back.

The rest of the day had been organizing the Amestrian garrison for deployment. Lakhan pointed them to a small village at the edge of the region’s jurisdiction, noting that the people there may not even know the Brotherhood is a factor. Hotwire didn’t buy that logic for a second. Terrorists relied on sympathetic locals to keep them abreast of government moves against them. The idea that the village didn’t know they were in the region was ridiculous, but then Lakhan was the Ishvalan in the room, not her.

It was a night’s rest before they were moving again, the other two trucks now filled with Amestrian soldiers. The demeanor of the Ishvalan officers changed, from ready and nervous to anxious and angry. She leaned close to Miles and asked, “Did every Ishvalan man wind up fighting in the war?”

“We weren’t stupid,” Miles said. “Anyone who saw combat in the war was turned away from service. These men were recruited from the refugees living in the slums in Amestris. They knew they’d be working alongside Amestrian soldiers when they began their training.”

“Saying it and accepting it are different things,” Hotwire said. “We can count on them to stay professional during this?”

“If they aren’t,” Miles said. “I’ll see that they never have a job anywhere near the capital for the rest of their lives.”

Hotwire leaned away and set to thinking. Miles at least understood the gravity of the situation. She wondered if Dead Six wouldn’t have to hold an extended training session for counter-insurgency strategy.

It was another four hours before they reached the end of their journey, the trucks pulling into a small village that Hotwire had seen before back home. A small collection of subsistence farmers and herders, living at the edges of the rest of society not because they hated it, but because society forgot they existed. Who might not hold ill-will toward outsiders, but who wouldn’t take kindness in the face of being treated as fools.

Lakhan and Mustang were hovering over a map, the soldiers and police organizing in the sight of a small crowd of civilians staring at them all. “We need to be faster,” Hotwire said, eyeing the growing crowd. “The Brotherhood will know in minutes we’re here.”

“As you said,” Lakhan mused, focused on the map. “They must already know we’re here.”

“Your forces are open for an ambush,” Hotwire said. “You’re not even posting them for security around our only transport out of here.”

“On it,” Miles said, turning back to the trucks. Thank God, he was at least willing to listen.

“The doctor’s hut is on the northeast edge of the village,” Scar said. “Judging from where their cart was heading, their hideout should be in this area just east of the hills and caves.”

“We should have the Ishvalans ask the local shopkeepers for information,” Hotwire said, trying to keep herself in the discussion. “It could tell us how many there are, whether they carry weapons into the town, vital intelligence.”

“I’ll have Maj. Miles task someone with that,” Mustang said. “We should be ready to move either just at twilight or before dawn.”

“Sir, I’d recommend you remain with a detachment here,” Hotwire said. “You’re the symbol of Amestrian authority in Ishval, just coming out here could tempt them to make an attempt on you.”

“I’m still the one responsible for the safety and security of Ishval,” Mustang said, a certainty in his eyes that told Hotwire she wasn’t going to get anywhere with this. “I won’t return to the capital until these men are accounted for.”

Hotwire dropped that argument. Watching as Miles and some of the new police went out to the now-apprehensive crowd, she accepted that Mustang was going to take this personally no matter how dangerous or foolish it made him act. Generals could be lost to enemy action, of course. The IDF had been no strangers to the deaths of some senior leaders from enemy action. That didn’t mean said senior leaders should be so close to the risk of enemy action like this. Mustang’s guilt was going to get him killed if he wasn’t careful.

Shouting. Turning, Hotwire saw an old man forcing his way through the crowd. “What are they doing, what are these people doing!”

“Oh boy,” Mustang groaned. “Let him through, he’s a friend of what we’re trying to accomplish here.”

“You don’t sound very sure,” Hotwire said, glancing at Mustang.

“What are you thinking,” the man said, his scarred face glaring up at Mustang. “You just came in to the town with an armed detachment? Are you trying to terrorize these people?”

“Doctor,” Lakhan said, stepping between Marcoh and Mustang. “I promise, we’re just here to stop the Brotherhood.”

“Are you,” Marcoh said, glaring up at the former rebel. “What about Mustang? He’s an alchemist, bringing him out to the east right now could create a backlash from the people!”

“He’s still the one trained to deal with these thing,” Lakhan said. “The Ishvalan police aren’t fully trained yet. We need the Amestrians to support this.”

“I hope they can,” Marcoh said, glaring up at Lakhan. “Scar, I’ve trusted your judgement for things like this but now it feels like you’ve left your sense behind.”

“Lakhan,” Mustang called out. “We have a likely location, we’re moving out.”

Lakhan nodded, then turned back to Marcoh. “Please, get out of here. None of us can protect you here.”

Marcoh scanned the Amestrians and Ishvalan police, saying, “I don’t think I’m the one that needs protecting.”

* * *

The homestead was a simple affair, a single house with a goat pen a few yards away. The goats bleated out, a single shepherd boy tending to their needs. “This isn’t right,” Lakhan said. “There should be smoke coming from a fire inside, dinner being made.”

“It could be a trap,” Hotwire said. “Once your people move in they might open fire, or trigger some explosives.”

Mustang lowered his binoculars, turning to Lakhan. “How many men did you see in the building?”

“Maybe sixteen,” Lakhan said. “Even if they knew we were coming, they would have set lookouts. It just feels odd, all of it feels like something is missing.”

“We should only send a small squad with an Ishvalan officer,” Hotwire advised. “Surround the house from a distance until we figure out what’s happening.”

As Mustang issued orders, Hotwire turned to Lakhan and asked, “Should we send someone to those caves? If they’re hiding out there, we could surround them with a cordon and starve them out.”

“They wouldn’t use the caves to hide,” Lakhan said. “Those are the resting places of our dead. Defiling those is a grave sin to our people.”

“You used them to hide weapons,” Hotwire said. “How is that different from hiding out in them to avoid the military?” Lakhan didn’t answer.

The soldiers dispersed, taking their positions around the homestead. A squad moved toward the door, an Ishvalan officer taking the lead. Mustang watched from afar, the Ishvalan waving to the boy. The boy answered, and after a few questions pointed to the house. The soldiers in the squad dispersed around the house, the police officer moving to the boy. The sergeant leading the squad moved toward the front door, rifle at the ready just in case. He knew he was probably being tracked as he moved but he was still trained to be ready. Mustang watched as he called out, the distant echo reaching him back at the trucks. There was silence, no answer from inside. The sergeant moved closer, calling out again with no response.

“We need to get him out,” Lakhan said. “There should have been a response, even from -- ”

The house went up, engulfed in a fireball. The sergeant was thrown back by the force, the squad ducking down and shouting out. “Good God,” Mustang shouted. “Get a medic down there, bring the trucks for the wounded!”

Hotwire grabbed Mustang just as he started to move. “Stay down! The explosion has our attention, you don’t know if there aren’t snipers waiting for you to stick your head up!”

“My men are wounded,” Mustang growled. “They need to get back to a doctor.”

“There’s one in the town, remember?” Hotwire barked, keeping Mustang down. “They want to see you _dead!_ ”

“What about him,” Mustang shouted, pointing to Lakhan. Hotwire looked up and saw him running. “He can go running?”

“He’s not the officer in charge,” Hotwire barked. “Stay the fuck down!”

Lakhan sprinted toward the now-smoking homestead, the goats bleating as they barged against the pen to escape. The police officer was bent over the shepherd, trying to keep his hands tight against a head wound on the boy. Ignoring the unconscious sergeant, Lakhan sprinted into the wreckage. The house was next to gone, smoldering furniture laying among the wreckage of the roof. The most solid thing left inside was the wood stove in what had been the kitchen.

There were no bodies or limbs left inside, no weapons abandoned by the Brotherhood. They were gone, vanished like hope for talent at a Five Finger Death Punch show. As the shouts and orders from outside started to hit his ears, Lakhan moved back and went to Mustang.

“What happened,” Mustang asked, Hotwire glaring at the Ishvalan. “Where’s the Brotherhood?”

“Gone,” Lakhan said. “They must have moved before we had a chance to organize this.”

“Dammit,” Mustang swore, fists balled in rage. “We need to get more men out here, we can’t let them escape.”

“They’ve already escaped,” Hotwire said. “Securing this region will only be part of your efforts. You’ll need to increase the Amestrian presence across Ishval until the police forces are sufficiently trained and equipped. The most we can do now is send a detachment to check on the caves, to see if they’ve been cleared out.”

“I told you that’s a sin,” Lakhan growled. “If you send your soldiers into those caves -- ”

“We don’t have time to hear your bitch about your traditions anymore,” Hotwire barked, spinning on Lakhan. “The Brotherhood isn’t concerned with traditions and belief, they’re fighting to win. You need to get men into those caves and make sure that no other weapons were taken. General, either do that now or leave it to someone who can give that order.”

Mustang watched as the sergeant and shepherd were carried to the trucks. The sergeant had blood dripping from his nose and ears, the blast wave had done hard damage. The boy, his forehead was bleeding bad enough that one of his soldiers had to keep their hands on his head as they moved him to try and stop the bleeding.

“I need three police and a squad,” Mustang barked. “You’ll move into the caves and investigate for any weapons caches. Do not disturb any bodies, but make sure there aren’t any more weapons inside those caves.”

Lakhan glared at Hotwire and said, “You don’t realize what you’re about to unleash.”

“It’s already out,” Hotwire said, turning to get back onto the trucks. “You didn’t have the balls to take it on before it was too late.”

* * *

Mann stood before Hawker’s desk, holding a clipboard as he spoke. “The increased patrols haven’t seen anything unusual for the past few nights. Between the lack of follow-up and the visible present of the additional sentries, the command staff believes it safe to decrease the number of personnel on night watch.”

“Acceptable,” Hawker said, still working on his paperwork. “The additional duties will cease after tonight. Any other updates?”

“This might interest you sir,” Mann said, setting a piece of paper on Hawker’s desk. “Grumman’s in negotiations with parliament on experimental spending for new projects. The main thrust is alchemy, but he did mention advancing our vehicle fleet.”

“Keep an eye on these reports,” Hawker said, putting another file in his out tray. “We need to ensure that we remain abreast of any potential shifts in political sentiment.”

“Yes sir,” Mann said. “Other than that, it’s a decent end of the week. The men are asking if they can get a pass into the city sir, seeing as they’ve been behaving themselves, I can’t blame them.”

“Is that because you’d like to go into town as well,” Hawker said with a flat tone, not looking up from his next sheaf of papers.

“Taking care of the men need not be opposed to taking care of myself sir,” Mann said, smiling. “At least some of the men sir, they’d appreciate a day for themselves after this extra run of duties.”

“Very well,” Hawker said. “Alert the unit leaders that we’ll authorize weekend passes starting Friday afternoon into Monday morning. Emphasize that their behavior will influence further decisions on these privileges.”

“Of course sir,” Mann said, smiling as she set his papers back in order. “Well I’ll -- ”

“Sir,” Cromwell said, barging into the room without even a knock. “We’re got a situation.”

Hawker didn’t even look up as he read over his work. “What’s the issue, sergeant major?”

“Radio report from the garrison to the east,” Cromwell answered. “Mustang, the fool tried to lead a company to arrest some bandit group. Problem is the idiot managed to blow up an Ishvalan homestead and almost killed a local shepherd.”

Hawker looked up. “Our forces?”

“One wounded,” Cromwell said. “Recommendations?”

Hawker set his pen down and turned to Mann. “Put the base on alert, have all personnel prepare for potential hostile action until further notice.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 10**

* * *

Parker shook his head, pacing around the radio. “I knew it, I knew it, that idiot was bound to fuck up sooner or later.”

Havoc was silent, listening to the report continue on over the radio. “ _As of this moment, the condition of Gen. Mustang is unknown, but it is confirmed that a local shepherd was in fact wounded during the incident. The Amestrian Eastern News Bureau will continue to monitor this situation for further updates._ ”

“This is it,” Gunner said, sighing. “A destroyed homestead and a wounded local, the Ishvalans will see red now.”

“We don’t know that,” Falman said. “They know Mustang is trying to help Ishval, they know he wouldn’t blow up a house.”

“He’s an alchemist,” Gunner said. “It doesn’t matter what his intent is. Right now everyone knows him as the Flame Alchemist and the Amestrian Hero of Ishval. God, this can’t play into the Brotherhood’s hands any better.”

Breda looked up, something like realization on his face as he spoke. “Jeez, that’s why it didn’t make sense.”

Parker looked over. “What didn’t?”

“There’s no phone lines out east, so how’d they already know to report on this if they’re out at the edge of Ishval?” Breda went up to Parker. “What’s the sticking point around here right now? What’s the thing that everyone wants gone because of the Brotherhood?”

“Jesus, they planted the story,” Parker said. “Aagney knew Mustang would go out.”

“And his reputation is in shambles,” Hawkeye said. “They knew, didn’t they?”

“That’s not the problem,” Parker said, checking his pistol. “They’re gonna start moving on that Area 15 place.”

“We need to get to the next ranking officer,” Deadeye said. “If we aren’t careful they’ll have riots here as well. The MPs need to pull back to their strongholds and get ready to react to civil unrest.”

“I’ll get someone,” Hawkeye said. “Havoc, you get out to Area 15, Gen. Hawker should know what’s coming his way.”

“On it,” Havoc said, jumping from his seat.

“Deadeye, Bruiser, you two stay here and help with the riot. Patch, keep an eye on the headquarters,” Parker said, following Havoc. “I’ll try and pin the bastard down and get some answers.”

“Remember he’s still technically an ally,” Patch said. “Don’t have a repeat of what happened with the Spanish ambassador.”

Parker grumbled as he went out of the room, “You’re never gonna let that go, are you?”

* * *

Deadeye wasn’t an expert on riots and civil unrest. Oh, the British Army had dealt with it many a time in Belfast and Londonderry. He’d been dressed up in the proper kit trying to keep the Unionists from burning down a Catholic housing block, or the Catholics from burning their way down the Shankill. He was still a better aid than the major leading the MPs though, a man who looked wholly out of his depth when it came to riots.

“Alright men,” he barked, standing in front of the assembled MPs. “We’ve got a potential riot situation on our hands. Now I know we don’t have any firearms, but the best intelligence we have says the Ishvalans won’t either. Remember, our objective is to keep order in the capital. If that falls, so will the rest of Ishval.”

He was already hitting the wrong notes, Deadeye realized. Yes, the riot response had to be a single organized unit, but the officers needed to remember that the rioters were civilians a few hours ago. That was the mistake England had made in Northern Ireland. Trying to tamp down on rioting like it was an automatic insurrection was a mistake. You protected people and property, but you don’t come down on the people unless they’re wreaking havoc. In the absolute worst cases, you do what you can to contain them and limit the damage.

“I’ll take this,” Bruiser said. He’d been thinking the same, it seemed. “Major, a word?” The major backed away from his men, looking at the pair in confusion. “These are civilians, remember? Charging at them like they’re armed terrorists will only turn public opinion against you. Tell your men that they should back away unless they’re intervening to protect someone’s life or property.”

“Are you kidding,” the major laughed. “It’s Ishval, unless my men take an aggressive stance they’re gonna get treated like cobblestones out there.”

“You’ll have cobblestones flying at your men if you don’t listen,” Deadeye said, voice barely above a whisper. “The Isvhalans know what the military is capable of. If you go out there with domination on your mind instead of restoring order, you’ll give the Brotherhood a propaganda coup.”

“Then what am I supposed to do?” the major asked. “I can’t just put my people out there without a plan.”

“Have you ever gotten any training for civil disturbances,” Bruiser asked. “Anything, even a basic course?”

The major shook his head. “There’s never been a reason to train for something like this, we don’t have to worry about riots in Amestris.”

The two commandos had to hold back disbelieving scoffs. Of course the military police wouldn’t need to worry about riot control training, because Father wanted bloodshed and death. They didn’t respond in order to keep the peace, they responded with force to keep Father’s plans from swerving out of control. Any kind of riot training had to consist of force because it was what Bradley wanted. The appearance of strength without creating a ripple in the plan to usurp God.

“Look, for now the best way to handle this is to send detachments to vital public buildings and utilities,” Deadeye said. “Tell your men to hold the line and not engage unless the Ishvalans attempt to attack them. Even then, you have to tell your men to only act defensively. No going after anyone who attacks, no movement against civilians, and no action unless lives are at stake.”

The major took a breath, looking back to his men. “I can’t promise they’ll keep their temper -- ”

“Are you soldiers fecking soldiers?” Bruiser said, stepping toward the man. “They’ll follow your orders or answer to you. Now order them to do that and tell them, anyone who disobeys will be brought up on charges for disobeying your express command.”

As the major went back to his unit, Bruiser turned to Deadeye and said, “We need to get out there, at least to try and keep an eye on these idiots.”

“What I was thinking,” Deadeye said, moving toward the major as he started issuing orders.

* * *

Parker glared out the windows of the staff car as the Ishvalans started to congregate. They were in the crucial stage of a riot, the one just before it actually started. If the Amestrians didn’t screw this up (Doubtful), they could stand a chance of just passing this one off as a bad PR move. It didn’t look hopeful, as the Ishvalans started to concentrate on street corners and in the markets. Massed groups of men and older teens swirling around each other, a few women in the mix all talking with each other about what happened now.

There were a few MPs out on patrol, looking nervous as they realized something had gone horribly wrong. Which only made Parker more anxious, since nervous people made terrible choices. There wasn’t time to stop the car, not when 15 was probably staring down the barrel of an attack. Even if they weren’t associated with Nod, Ishval exploding meant that Dead Six would have a new host of problems to deal with.

“I don’t get it,” Havoc growled, the car rocking as it hit the sandy trail that passed for a road in Ishval. “How’d they manage to get word out about this so fast?”

“They had to have some way of getting word to each other during the war,” Gunner said, tossed around the backseat with Falman. “A system of runners, pre-determined signals. Anything to get an advantage on you lot.”

Havoc let out a dark chuckle. “Of course, they had to use these ideas now once the war is over instead of back when it was being fought.”

“Can you just drive,” Breda groaned, righting himself after a particularly hard bump. “I wanna at least get back here before they burn most of the city down.”

“Trying,” Havoc grunted, shifting gears. “I can’t believe these guys though. How’d they play us like we’re idiots?”

“Leave that for the diplomats to figure out,” Parker said, checking his pistol.

It didn’t take long for the car to pull up at the guard post, a lone sentry stepping out with his SMG in-hand. “Sir, turn that car around -- ”

“15’s about to come under attack,” Havoc said, jumping out of the car. “They’re trying to cause a riot in the capital to draw our attention away from this base.”

“Sir, we have security in hand,” the sentry said, holding up a hand to Havoc. “You need to get back in your car and drive away from the perimeter.”

“Listen you idiot, you’re about to have God-knows how many red-eyed lunatics charging your position,” Parker barked, storming up to the man. “Either call your boss or get someone on the radio who gives a damn!”

To the sentry’s credit, he raised his SMG and held up a hand. “Sir, this is a restricted Amestrian military facility. Either get back in your vehicle or I’ll be forced to use force.” Parker answered by grabbing the SMG, punching the sentry in the face, and grabbing the SMG away. The second sentry tried to bring their weapon up, but Gunner was already sprinting inside to grab his weapon too. In half a minute, the two men were kept at gunpoint outside their own shack.

Breda went inside, keying the radio out. “To anyone listening on this channel, potential hostile forces are incoming on this base. Recommend immediate -- ”

Shouting in the distance. Looking back toward the road, the four saw a crowd of Ishvalans marching through the desert. They carried clubs and raised their fists, moving straight for the sentry post.

“What the hell,” Havoc whispered. “How’d they get out here so fast, they’d have to have their own vehicles!”

“Or they had this planned since before Mustang went out,” Breda said. “That’s gotta be at least a hundred people out there!”

“That’s just great,” Parker said, shoving the SMG back into the hands of the sentry he took it from. “Get on the horn, call the base and tell them a mass of angry civilians is on their way to you position. Estimate at least a hundred, tell them to get additional sentries to this post along with vehicles. Any questions?”

Havoc expected the sentry to argue, or to ask some kind of question. What he didn’t expect was the sentry to nod and do as he was told. “Parker, how the hell did you do that?”

“No idea,” he mused, drawing his pistol. “Guess I’ve just got that sweet personality.”

[Across the base](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8-nCtkY-43E), the sirens wailed. Soldiers dropped their tools and sprinted to the armory for their weapons. Two of the off-roaders were equipped with mounted machine guns, but not the water-cooled models that Amestris used. They were sleek, slim designs, light enough for a man to carry if they could control the recoil. The soldiers ran out with helmets and rifles, but they also bore small light blue vests wrapped around their chests.

Mann stood in the base’s radio room, a map of the range up the wall opposite the radios. “Relay to all sentry posts, I want to know the second their platoons arrive. Put the off-roaders between posts 1 and 2 and 4 and 5, get the motorized squads to 3, 6, and 7. Status on the reserve?”

“Standby sir,” one of the radiomen said. “Sir, motor pool reports no vehicles available for the reserve unit.”

“Get them on the horses,” Mann ordered. “If those animals aren’t saddled in five, I want to know what the fuck happened to our training.”

Another radioman turned and said, “Sir, Gen. Hawker wants to know where we’re posting Lt. Whitworth?”

“Fuck,” Mann grumbled, looking over the map. “Put her with the reserve.”

* * *

Whitworth was waiting for orders when Fokker ran to her outside the barracks. “Lieutenant, you’re with the reserves, you need to report to the stables.”

Whitworth nodded, sprinting behind Fokker to the stables. Sgt. Covenanter was already there, ordering the horses saddled and ready for a platoon of soldiers. Sherman, Kerry-Ann, and Alma were already mounting their horses, Kerry-Ann checking the action on her carbine as Alma and Sherman reined their horses around.

“Oh great,” Kerry-Ann grumbled, chambering a round. “Lieutenant Newjack is here to fail again.”

“Good thing I’ve got a will,” Sherman said, adjusting the radio pack attached to his horse’s saddle.

“We’ve still got Sgt. Covenanter here,” Alma said, slinging her carbine. “We’ll take our lead from her and cover the lieutenant.”

“Right,” Kerry-Ann said, grinning. “How much you want to be she can’t even saddle a horse?”

Alma was about to remind Kerry-Ann the lieutenant was right there when she saw Whitworth already throwing the saddle down over the blanket and cinching it tight. She smiled back at Kerry-Ann, the redhead rolling her eyes and turning her horse away from the stables.

“Lieutenant,” Covenanter said, turning her horse. “We wait for the word to move from Capt. Mann, we’ll backup any post that’s in danger of being overrun.”

“Thank you sergeant,” Whitworth said, turning her horse around. She looked over the unit in confusion. “What are those vests?”

“Right, you don’t have one,” Covenanter said. “We’ll work one up for you later, right now we don’t exactly have the time.”

Fokker was working on his horse, grunting as he tightened the saddle. “Guess the Ishvalans wanna die pretty bad, marching on 15 like this.”

“Stow if Fokker, just get that horse ready.” Checking her SMG, Covenanter wheeled around to the platoon. “Alright, every one of you remember that there’s a bunch of red-eyed idiots who want another war. We don’t need to give them an excuse, even if that idiot alchemist Mustang can’t do the job.” There was a ripple of laughs even if Whitworth was scowling at that mention. “Remember, we don’t want Ishval lighting up again. If you need to scare them, fire a warning shot to keep them back, fine. You do not open fire until I give you the order, is that clear?”

“Yes sergeant!”

“Lieutenant,” Covenanter said, wheeling her horse toward Whitworth. “Can you handle large groups with your alchemy?”

Whitworth stammered a second. “Y-Yes, I think I can -- ”

“Think?” Covenanter half-scoffed. “Sounds pretty yes or no, can you or can’t you lieutenant?”

Whitworth froze. She’d been failing for months to bring her alchemy back to where it had been before the mission to the lab. Could she do it? She took a breath. It wasn’t a question of “if” right now. “Yes, yes I can.”

Covenanter’s eyebrow went up, but she didn’t say anything to Whitworth. Turning her horse back to the platoon she nodded. “Standby. Sherman, let us know the second you hear anything.”

* * *

Aagney moved in the crowd of Ishvalans, feeling his heart swell as they moved. The men around him cried out for the Amestrians to leave, to give Ishval back to the Ishvalan people. They marched with whatever they could find from the capital. Clubs, pipes, stones from the streets. The Brotherhood was mixed in with each group, leading them on as they went.

He hadn’t expected how well the tip to the radio news worked. When his men had went through the city after the broadcast, they’d found so many men they could actually split the rioters up. Originally they’d hope to gather a single large group while small teams tried to move into the base. Instead they had masses of protestors moving on the base from multiple directions, ready to overwhelm the sentry posts. Even if they did send backup, the base only had so many off-roaders to send out. They could push through the perimeter and into the base, force a negotiation. Take away the soldiers and leave the land for the people it belonged to.

He watched as they closed on the nearest sentry post, a man outside it ordering they stop and pull back. He had a weapon, an Amestrian SMG, but that didn’t panic him. The Amestrian weapons only had so many rounds, and in the time it took for the soldier to pull out another magazine and chamber a round he’d be on the man. No need to kill them, the more soldiers the better. Humiliate Amestris, and the Brotherhood would be another step closer to winning back Ishval.

The crowd started to stall, just a few yards from the sentry post. A few of the men must have lived through the war, and the sight of an Amestrian with a weapon kept them from getting closer. That was fine, he’d expected some of them would be nervous. Ishvalans had been beaten down by Amestris, long enough for their spirit to have nearly vanished. This would reawaken that fire, and never extinguish it.

“You’re approaching the perimeter of a military facility,” the soldier shouted. “Leave this area now or we will open fire!”

“Never,” Aagney shouted. “This is our land, taken from us! Amestris did this, and we won’t leave until it’s returned!”

The men cheered, surging ahead again. The sentry swore something Aagney couldn’t hear, shouting back into the post before chambering a round and shouting, “Dammit, stay back! I don’t want to shoot any of you!”

Aagney didn’t believe the cries from the soldier. The Amestrians had done enough during the war to show that they didn’t care. The dead women and children found in the ruins told him Amestrians didn’t care about the lives of others. Their treatment of the Ishvalans they forced in Amestrian cities and camps was all he needed to see the facts of how the soldiers really viewed them. Amestris didn’t want to look bad to the rest of the world, that was the only reason these soldiers weren’t firing.

Some of the men started throwing rocks at the sentry, the man ducking into the hut. Aagney saw his chance and made a move to break from the crowd. He put a hand on his blade, ready to do what needed to be done –

An engine in the distance. Aagney held himself back, watching as a dust cloud rose from the direction of the base. One of the off-roaders, faster than he expected. Still, the crowd around him was worked up now, there was no reason they couldn’t take it on. Until Aagney saw something mounted on a pole in the rear of the off-roader.

An young office in the passenger seat stood up and put a megaphone to his mouth. “Attention! This is a restricted military facility! We are authorized to use deadly force! Leave this area or you will be fired on!”

Aagney tried to understand what kind of weapon they’d attached to the vehicle. There was a belt of ammunition attached to the weapon, but it couldn’t have been a machine gun. Machine guns were bulky things, this just looked like a barrel attached to a mechanism. Was this some kind of Cretan weapon?

“There’s only five of them,” one of the others shouted. “We can take them, we can take back our lands!” The crowd surged forward, Aagney keeping pace. He’d wait until the crowd had distracted the soldiers, then he’d put them all down –

Dassault shook his head and turned to the gunner. “Short burst at twenty five meters.” The gunner nodded, putting the butt of the weapon in his shoulder. Dassault braced as the trigger squeezed.

_BRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRT_

The gun barked, rounds ripping across the sands meters in front of the charging Ishvalans. The crowd stumbled, slamming into each other and stopping Aagney cold. He tried to figure out what just happened, the machine guns from the war didn’t fire that fast. The crowd of men looked around trying to figure out what happened, their anger forgotten in the face of such a threat.

“That’ll buy us time,” Dassault mumbled. He turned to the two sentries and said, “Radio to the command center, tell them they need to get the reserve to post two!”

* * *

Cromwell kept a hand on his holster, watching out the window as the second line of soldiers waited. It was all well and good to try and hold the Ishvalans at the edge of the base, but they wouldn’t think that there wasn’t a chance the perimeter could be breached.

Hawker looked over a map of the base, listening to the pulse of the action from a speaker linked to the radio room. “Contact Central, alert Fuhrer Grumman to these actions.”

“Will do sir,” Cromwell said. “Should we break out the heavy equipment?”

“Negative,” Hawker said. “Word could filter to the Aerugans, and from there the Drachmans and Cretans. Unless the Ishvalans breach the perimeter, the new systems will remain in place.”

“Yes sir,” Cromwell said. Keeping an eye out the window, the graying master sergeant thought about what was happening outside.

“ _Reserve platoon, proceed to sentry post 2,_ ” the radio crackled. “ _Sentries require additional support._ ”

Cromwell shook his head. That idiot Mustang had wound up being no better than any other state alchemist, unable to do anything without making the situation worse. But getting the Ishvalans worked up when he was supposed to be stabilizing the situation? That was a screwup that even he couldn’t believe.

“Radio post 2, ask for the status of the detachment from the capital.”

Cromwell nodded, leaving the room and moving for the radio room. He opened the door to see Mann moving pins on the map. “Captain, general’s asking about those morons who came in, what’s their status?”

Mann turned to one of the radiomen. “Message to post 2, what’s the status of the people who showed up?”

“Command to Post 2, Command to Post 2, request status on the individuals who are with you, over?”

* * *

Havoc glared down the crowd that kept marching toward the post. Some of them were throwing stones, they’d already broken the windows facing them in the hut. He heard the sentry radio something, but he didn’t pay too much attention as he dodged another stone flying at his head. “Any ideas?”

“Just kill’em,” Parker barked. “They’re the ones trying to kill us.”

“They aren’t,” Breda shouted. “If they wanted to they’d send warrior-priests at us.”

“Do they know that,” Gunner scoffed, stones bouncing off his body. “I’d say about seventy, maybe ninety at the high-end, cap’n.”

“That’s enough to overrun the position,” Parker growled. “Havoc, if they get any closer we’ll need to shoot to kill.”

Havoc gritted his teeth. “Not unless they’re right on top of us, Parker.”

“So it’s okay if they die from an Amestrian offensive,” Parker laughed, leveling his pistol. “Got it, glad we have that cleared up.”

“The general said it’s what he wanted,” Breda shouted. “You don’t get to decide who dies.”

“You don’t kill them now, you’re setting yourself up for decades of trouble,” Parker barked.

Havoc ran through the options in his head. Not all of the Ishvalans in front of him were Brotherhood, they had to be civilians covering them. If he had a good line of the Brotherhood, then he’d have no problem taking them down. Not when there were innocent people overwhelmed by their anger though, not when they were being covered.

Hooves in the distance. Turning, Havoc saw a platoon of horses galloping toward the post He smiled, until he noticed there was an alchemist with them. An alchemist with short-cut blonde hair and a familiar pair of gauntlets. “ _Oh great, Whitworth._ ”

A female sergeant started barking orders to the platoon. “I want two of you every three meters! Don’t fire unless they’re about to cross the line, these idiots are looking for any excuse to get a war!”

Whitworth stopped her horse next to the shack. “Capt. Havoc, what are you doing out here?”

“Enjoying the beauty of the Ishvalan desert,” Havoc said. “What -- ”

Parker went up to Whitworth. “What can you do lieutenant?”

Whitworth looked like she was trying to process the statement. “Uh, well I can funnel the ambient heat of -- ”

“Put it simple!”

“I can make things cold,” Whitworth yelped. “People, things, I freeze them!”

Parker nodded and said, “Then freeze them!”

Whitworth looked out on the Ishvalans, the crowd surging closer and asked, “All of them?!”

“Well since we can’t kill them,” Parker growled, glaring at Havoc. “Freeze them or we’re dead!”

Whitworth shuddered. Raising her gauntlets, she tried to focus. She channeled the ambient heat of the desert air and tried to suck it away from the crowd. The Ishvalans faltered, a few looking around trying to figure out why the air was cold until one of them shouted, “Alchemist!” The crowd surged, more stones flying at the soldiers.

Kerry-Ann’s horse whinnied. “What the hell is that idiot doing?”

“We can’t kill them Kerry-Ann,” Alma shouted, barely holding her horse in place. “Whoever’s organized this, it’s what they want.”

“Then they’re gonna get it,” Kerry-Ann shouted, leveling her carbine in one hand as she held the reins in the other. “One of them dies, the rest will know what’s going on.”

“Sherman,” Covenanter called out. “What’s the status of the other sentries?”

“All posts are reporting contact with groups of Ishvalan civilians,” Sherman shouted. “They’re organizing platoons to head off anyone that might make it past the perimeter.”

“Infantry won’t be enough,” Parker shouted. “Freeze them away or we’re gonna die!”

Whitworth’s mind was racing. She tried to focus, channeling the heat away from the Ishvalans only to see them grow angrier.

“Goddammit, you’re a human weapon,” Parker bellowed. “What the fuck have you been doing!”

“I’m trying,” Whitworth yelled. “It’s a wide area to try and cool!”

“Told you,” Kerry-Ann said. “All flash, no meat.”

“Not now Kerry-Ann,” Alma grunted, trying to keep her horse under control. “We need a new _ARGH!_ ” Alma’s head flew back, blood spraying out of her nose. Her rifle clattered to the sands, her horse out of control and whipping her about.

Whitworth saw Alma take the hit, Kerry-Ann slinging her carbine as she tried to get the panicking horse under control. She turned back to the crowd of Ishvalans, and took a breath. She remembered the kindness Alma had shown her and thought about her constant tests on the range. She was too used to trying to cool wide areas, maybe the key was to take the heat away from a smaller space. She remembered her time on the range with MSgt. Cromwell and held out both arms. Leveling one at the crowd, she put the other up in the air. Taking a breath, she focused one sucking the heat energy out of the center of the crowd. Not around the crowd, not on sections of it, only the ground in the center of the crowd. She started drawing the heat away, and this time the Ishvalans were more than confused. Some of them tried to draw their clothes around themselves, others tried to spread out to get away from the cold spot that had formed in the center of the mob. One or two of them collapsed, needing help from the others as they were dragged away from the cold.

Parker grinned, looking up at Whitworth. “That’s it, that’s how you fuck’em up. Sergeant! Send your people out, break the group up and drive’em back!”

“Yes, sir!” Covenanter shouted, wheeling her horse to relay the order. “Keep them split up, don’t let’em reform! O’Malley, how’s Cole!”

“Alive,” Kerry-Ann shouted, keeping the reins of Alma’s horse in hand. “Give us a few, we’ll get out there!”

“Right!” Covenanter said, grinning as she turned to Whitworth. “Nice work ma’am.” Whitworth nodded, still focusing on breaking up the mob.

“Go figure,” Havoc said, lowering his pistol a little. “How’d you know that’d work?”

“Fifty-fifty,” Parker said, shrugging. “It’d either work or it wouldn’t.”

“Are you kidding,” Breda shouted. “You played that like a coin flip!?”

“He does it sometimes,” Gunner said, shaking his head. He didn’t bother hiding his grin though. “C’mon, we should get moving to the other sentry posts.”

“Under escort,” Covenanter barked. “Fokker! Go with them, don’t let’em out of your sight!”

“Got it sergeant,” Fokker answered, turning his horse around. “After you, sirs.”

* * *

Out at post 6, the off-roader crew was more unsure about their situation. The crowd of Ishvalans had surged forward again, stones clanging against the hood and the helmets of the men. The gunner in the off-roader flinched hard after another stone landed on his helmet. He gripped the pistol grip on the gun, squeezing the trigger as he turned.

_BRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRT_

The rounds went wild, stitching across the sand to the left of the Ishvalan mob. The Ishvalans flinched away, but two of them didn’t move fast enough. A younger man took a round to the leg, screaming as he cluthed his calve. A middle-aged man lay on the sand, facedown with his eyes open.

“Oh God,” the sentry inside the hut gasped, grabbing the radio. “Post 6 to Command, Post 6 to Command, we have two Ishvalans down!”

The crowd of Ishvalans shattered, backing away from the sentry post. Anger was all well and good, and the Brotherhood members inside the crowd tried to keep it alive. It didn’t take for the rest of the men. It was one thing to be angry. It was another thing to see a group of men dead.

* * *

Mann was already issuing orders as Cromwell left, saying, “Tell the reserves to keep moving from post to post, disperse the mobs and clear the perimeter. I want those two motorized platoons out to assist! Get a medical team to post 6, if there’s wounded Ishvalans we need to get a hold on that now! Try to hold any potential ringleaders, we need intelligence on what just happened!”

Cromwell left the radio room, moving straight for Hawker’s office. “Sir, Lt. Whitworth did it. She dispersed the Ishvalans using her alchemy.” Cromwell couldn’t hide his smile. “Capt. Mann’s already sending the reserves out to disperse the rest of the mobs.”

“Anything else?”

“Yes, an unknown number of Ishvalans were wounded sir,” Cromwell said. “The report from Post 6 said two, but we don’t know if any others were hit. We’re sending an ambulance out to see what happened.”

“Send our doctor out to accompany the wounded back to the capital,” Hawker said. “Ensure that we maintain a secure perimeter until the area is confirmed clear.”

“Sir, the base will need a standdown after this is over,” Cromwell said. “Especially the sentries and forces who went out.”

“What do you recommend?”

“Passes back into Amestris sir,” Cromwell said. “After what’s just happened, allowing them into the Ishvalan capital would be like giving a suicidal case a loaded gun.”

Hawker nodded and said, “Very well. After the area is confirmed secure, I’ll approve the opportunity for the base.”

Cromwell nodded. “Yes, sir.”

* * *

Aagney tried to brace himself against the cold. This was supposed to be a base full of rejects and fools, but here they were near-freezing in the middle of the desert sun. It was more than insulting, the presence of an alchemist here. The sinner might have disrupted the plan, but she was only proving how dangerous it was to leave an Amestrian base in Ishval. As long as the base was active, this sin against Ishvala would remain and ever-present danger.

“Brother,” one of his men shouted. “The men are breaking, we need to flee.”

Aagney glared at the alchemist one more time. That face, he burned it into his memory. If the base was going to stand for a time, fine. He’d see that Amestris paid for as long as it stood. “Fine, get them all away from the base. Tell the others to disappear until we contact them again.

Dassault watched as the Ishvalans fled, standing up in his side of the off-roader. “Go figure, they don’t run from the gun but they panic from alchemy. Great priorities. So, what finally got the alchemist working?”

“It happened after Cole got his with a rock,” Covenanter said, watching as the platoon rode through the scattered Ishvalans. “Don’t know what happened, but I’d want to stop those assholes too after that.”

“Well it worked,” Dassault said. “Looks like she finally has a use after all.”

The rest of the day was spent clearing the perimeter of the base, rounding up isolated groups of Ishvalans and escorting them to the road back to the capital. Parker watched as an ambulance drove past the group, not bouncing as much as the rest of the cars he’d ridden in.

“Thanks for the assist,” a voice said. Turning, Parker said Capt. Mann walking up to them. “We aren’t happy you assaulted one of our sentry posts, but you did raise the alarm.”

“Happy to help,” Havoc said, searching for a fresh cigarette. “Any of ours hurt?”

“A few bruises from the rocks, and a bloody nose,” Mann said. “The Ishvalans came off worse for it.”

“Should teach’em,” Gunner said. “Don’t suppose we can come on the base now?”

Mann blinked and said, “What are you talking about? This is still a controlled area, you thought you’d get a pass just because you helped us?”

“Can’t blame us for asking,” Parker said, glaring at Gunner. “We’ll leave with the Ishvalans, okay?”

“Fine,” Mann said, waving as he walked back to his car. “Remember, don’t try and get on unless Grumman says you can.”

As the captain left, Parker turned to Havoc and said, “I don’t think they’re Nod.”

“You don’t?” Havoc half-laughed as he spoke. “Why, because they didn’t kill anyone?”

“Because they didn’t kill more of them,” Parker said, ignoring the sarcasm. “Nod would’ve tried to destabilize this whole area, and that means a lot more dead Ishvalans. This was small-scale, amateur hour kinda terrorism. You won’t get lucky the next time these assholes try something.”

“Great,” Havoc grumbled, getting into the dented staff car. “What would we do without you, Parker?”


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 11**

* * *

The two teams were in the conference room, Mustang’s head low as they went over the events of the past day.

“The MPs managed to keep the peace,” Deadeye said, ignoring Mustang’s expression. “There were a few times they wanted to get rowdy, but their officers were impressed with the fact that they had to keep order instead of crush a rebellion.”

“We investigated the farmstead before we left,” Hotwire said. “There was a trigger mechanism next to where that shepherd was standing, hidden under a segment of canvas under the sand. All he had to do was shift his foot and detonate the explosives. A search of the caves showed that they managed to clear out a sizable cache of arms and explosives as well.”

“We went over the rioters who made their way out to the base,” Havoc said, sliding a picture and some paperwork forward. “This one, he was in the police training program.”

Patch saw the picture, and recognized the face from the earlier training action he saw. “You need to review your trainees, where there’s one there’s ten more hidden from sight.”

Miles nodded, taking the picture and paperwork. “Understood. It goes without saying, but this one won’t be part of the future Ishvalan police force.”

“Our report is finished,” Gunner said. “We’ve recommended that the diplomats work from East City, but in close concert with a delegation from the Provisional Authority for safety. We’ve also noted that Aerugo may be necessary as a partner in working against the Brotherhood. The vital thing is bringing in educated expatriates to assist in setting up functional systems for the future. We’re also going to recommend a GDI training team set up in the region to assist in counter-insurgency training operations.”

“Thank you,” The Master said, bowing his head to the commandos. “We will use this report to build a better foundation for our future.”

“What about the kid,” Parker said. “The shepherd they used to detonate the house, he alive?”

“Alive but unconscious,” Hawkeye said. “He was an orphan from the war, we haven’t been able to find any family for him.” Everyone noticed Parker seemed to tense at the news.

“The two Ishvalans that got hit at 15 have been identified as well,” Miles said. “The wounded man had been on the railroad crews, but he also lost his brother in the war. The dead man, he had no family, in a sense we got lucky. It still doesn’t help that a man died at the hand of Amestrian soldiers.”

“There’s still unanswered questions about 15,” Bruiser said. “From the sounds of it they’re using flak vests and machine gun designs that they shouldn’t have. Technology none of your nations should have yet.”

“I’ll ask Grumman to grant us permission to investigate,” Mustang said. “Well, for MV-2 to investigate.” Standing as straight as he could, he finally looked up at the group. “I’m being recalled to Central.”

The room tensed up as Mustang rose from the table. “You’re kidding me,” Havoc said, cigarette tight in his teeth. “They don’t think --”

“Grumman must be in quite the predicament,” Mustang said, putting his papers into a briefcase. “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, but if it comes down to it Grumman won’t hesitate to do what he needs to.”

The Master rose from his seat, bowing to Mustang. “We are all thankful for your efforts, Gen. Mustang. The Provisional Authority will always recognize your efforts to bring new life to Ishval again.” The other Ishvalans in the room rose and bowed as well, not an insincere look on any one of them.

“I’ll do what I can for the police training program,” Miles said, holding out his hand. “Hopefully with the information supplied by GDI, I can get a functioning department running before too long.”

Mustang nodded, shaking Miles’ hand. “I know you’ll succeed.”

The meeting broke up, but Parker remained in his seat. Mustang shook his head and said, “If you have some smart remark, I’d rather hear it from Fuhrer Grumman than you.”

Parker took a breath before he said. “I’m not used to orders involving trying to keep people alive. You get that, right?”

“I know,” Mustang said, standing in front of his chair. “But I can’t take the idea of having to kill them all in order to save Ishval. I did enough of it during the war.”

Parker shook his head. “And you’ll have to keep doing it,” he said, rising from his seat. “You want to get this place back on it’s feet? You can build as many railroads and train as many cops as you want. As long as some of these people hate you, they won’t stop trying to kill you. You’ll win over the rest of them, but as long as those Brotherhood idiots are around, it’ll be whack-a-mole to stop them.”

Mustang stared at the commando a minute. “Parker, do you really believe what you say? Or is there a part of you that keeps wishing you could say something else?”

“I don’t really care if there is,” Parker said. “My job’s over here in two days. You’re the ones who’ll be stuck dealing with this a long time.”

* * *

Mual was in the middle of his noonday prayers when he heard the door to his room open. “Brother, Mustang is being recalled to Central.”

Mual looked up. “The Brotherhood?”

“Quiet,” the man said. “Our contacts within the Provisional Authority have told us there have been no arrests of any of their members.”

Mual was silent for a minute before answering. “Tell our brothers they should be mindful of the Brotherhood’s actions. Thanks to the Amestrian actions our people are primed to want them out of our lands. Place ourselves in the public square, and we can find the support of those who won’t wish to take the same actions as the Brotherhood.”

“What about the Brotherhood,” the man said. “What should we do about them?”

“They insult Ishvala,” Mual said, his voice growing hard. “These children claim to fight for their faith, only to hide behind others in their fight. “We’ll let Amestris and the Provisional Authority exhaust themselves against the Brotherhood. When the time is right, we’ll emerge as the only option left for our people’s freedom.”

“And the Brotherhood itself?”

“We will protect our people,” Mual said, returning to his worship. “As long as the Brotherhood focuses their actions on the Amestrians, we will be vocal in our actions. If they turn their anger inward, on their brothers and sisters? We will act in the interests of our people.” The man bowed and left, leaving Mual to his prayers once more.

* * *

Aagney took a seat at the counter, next to one of his lieutenants. The market was busy again, and the noise kept them from being heard. “Is he still alive?”

“He is,” the man said, tearing off a chunk of bread to dip. “A piece of stone struck him, he’s still unconscious.”

“I failed him,” Aagney whispered. “I should have left someone else.”

“He knew what would happen when he volunteered, you told him that,” the lieutenant said, turning to his leader. “All of us know what we’re trying to do here, Aagney. No Aerugans, no Amestrians. Only Ishval, led by Ishvalans. You showed Amestris that our spirit is not dead, now we must plan our next move.”

“I know,” Aagney said, trying to keep his head up. “It doesn’t mean I don’t feel the weight of what I ask of you all.”

“You don’t ask of us anything we haven’t seen you willing to do,” the man said, putting a hand on Aagney’s shoulder. “You lead us, brother. We put our faith in you.”

Aagney nodded, remembering that he had sworn to do this until his death. His mother and his training did not make him a coward.

“Morning,” the shopkeeper said, walking up to the counter.

“Good morning,” Aagney said. “A small plate please, I have much to do.”

The shopkeeper nodded, turning to fix a plate of meat and bread for Aagney. What neither man could see was the scorpion tail tattoo under the man’s clothes on the base of his neck.

* * *

Hawker read over the reports from the company commanders on the incident. “All our wounded are expected to recover?”

“Yes, sir,” Mann said, standing at rest before Hawker’s desk. MSgt. Cromwell stood off to the side, listening to everything. “We’re still sending patrols out to make sure we haven’t missed anything in the surrounding area. So far, only footprints and abandoned clubs.”

“Very well,” Hawker said, closing the reports. Placing them to the side of his desk, he stared into Mann. “The additional duties will continue for another two weeks. After that we will be allowing passes to East City for anyone willing to take them. Other destinations will require review.”

“Yes, sir,” Mann said. “Will there be anything else?”

“No, dismissed,” Hawker said. Mann snapped to attention and left the room, leaving Hawker and Cromwell alone. Before pulling out his next pile of paperwork, Hawker turned to Cromwell. “Whitworth’s status?”

Cromwell grinned, pulling a frozen solid watermelon from behind his back.

“Satisfactory,” Hawker said, diving into his paperwork. “We will need to start making contingencies for unusual operations. Have Lt. Dassault and Sgt. Covenanter put together special platoon for unconventional actions.”

“Yes, sir,” Cromwell said. “And Lt. Whitworth?”

“Part of that platoon,” Hawker said, already going at his paperwork. “I want special attention paid to the Aerugan alchemic techniques and the abilities of Ishvalan warrior-priests.”

“On it sir,” Cromwell said, starting to walk out of the room.

“Master sergeant,” Hawker said, not looking up. “What about the second watermelon?”

“Well sir,” Cromwell said, grinning as he opened the door. “Would’ve taken me too long to pick up every piece and put it back together.”

* * *

[It was five days](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ml-jhHJA7s0) before Mustang arrived in Central, getting a shower and fresh uniform before going to Central HQ. Dodging past a bald man in a black suit, he hurried up the steps to the front desk of HQ, and from there it was straight to Grumman’s office.

Mustang tried to keep himself composed. He already had a good idea of what was about to happen, but there was always the slim chance that it wouldn’t quite be that bad. Making his way to Grumman’s office, he took a long breath and knocked on the door. Grumman’s voice called out, “Come in.”

Mustang walked in to see Grumman sitting across from a chessboard. “Ah, Mustang! Come in my boy, it’s been some time since we’ve had a game.”

“It has sir,” Mustang said, moving to the empty chair across from Grumman. “I take it you can’t find anyone decent to play against?”

“Hardly,” Grumman said, steepling his hands on the white side of the board. “Kennedy is always out to lunch with his party leadership, Hatch never wants to be found anywhere near me, and the command staff are all too easy to defeat.”

“That’s quite a shame,” Mustang said, moving his first pawn. “Sounds like you’ve gotten rusty.”

“You think so?” Grumman chuckled, responding in kind. “Maybe I should ask Mrs. Bradley then, seeing as no one else has the time or skill.”

The game went on in silence for a time, until Mustang spoke after taking one of Grumman’s rooks. “What was the reaction in parliament?”

“Nothing good,” Grumman said, his voice quiet. “Kennedy is unhappy that this all happened, and Hatch? He’s demanding to know why we’re spending money in Ishval if they’re going to attack an Amestrian base.”

Mustang watched Grumman move one of his bishops in response. “Did they make any demands?”

Grumman nodded. “I read the information, my boy. I know you did what you needed to. I’m sure the reports from the Provisional Authority and MV-5 will bear that out. But Parliament is shaken, and if they believe that the money they’re sending is being misspent they will decide to slash the money for the garrisons and projects we’re carrying out in Ishval.”

Mustang moved his queen away from a potential strike. “So that’s the end then?”

“It’s the end for now,” Grumman answered, placing one of his knights to head off one of Mustang’s rooks. “I’ll see that someone who shares our hopes for Ishval is sent in your place, and that Maj. Miles will remain to act as an interface between the military and Provisional Authority.”

Mustang didn’t make his move at first. “Capt. Hawkeye?”

“The spotlight is on you, not anyone under you.” Grumman settled back into his chair, his usual smile gone. “Which brings me to your new assignment. I can’t post you anywhere within Amestris, the questions regarding it would be too difficult to answer. The only duty I can place you in is one where you don’t remain in Amestris.”

Mustang took a breath, staring down at the board. The pieces were scattered across the board, black and white spread through each side in no real pattern. “So that’s it then,” Mustang said. “The MVTF is the only place I can go?”

“It will take time for this to finally die down,” Grumman said, his eyes cast down and away from Mustang. “I will do what I can my boy. You’ve done your best to help Ishval, but now you have to leave it to someone else.”

Mustang started moving his pieces again. “I understand sir, as long as it’s for the good of Ishval.”

Grumman smiled again, moving his queen in response. “That’s why I trusted you with the command, Mustang.”

Mustang was silent for the rest of the game, focused on the placement of his pieces. “ _Alright then,_ ” he thought, putting his queen into play at last. “ _Then the multiverse had better be prepared._ ”

* * *

Lakhan hadn’t prayed in a long time, at least not in the proper way his faith taught him to. He’d tried to speak to Ishvala, but had not heard the voice of his god since he’d made his choice years ago.

Ishvala had never been one for temples or holy sites. They existed, but not in the same way other faiths kept theirs. Ishvalans prayed where they could, knowing that all creation was of their god. Praying and following their teachings was what was required, not the pomp and wherewithal of other religions.

Setting himself down on the roof of the Provisional Authority, he watched as the sun traveled westward. Shutting his eyes, he thought about all that had happened. The Brotherhood loose, Amestris forced to take harder lines against them, and the Ishvalan people caught in the coming melee.

“Ishvala, hear this, the words of your unworthy son,” he whispered. “I beg you, not for my own sake, but for the sake of the innocent that you watch over. Show them mercy, and a respite from the hatred that has ruled their lives for too long. Grant them peace and the calm of the future they deserve. I ask this in the name of your creation, and of your mercy.”

He paused, trying to focus on the silence that surrounded him on the rooftop. He could hear the market in the distance, the wind on the roof, but after that? Nothing. No peaceful serenity of his prayer being heard, no relief that he had spoke to Ishvala. There was only the wind, and only the sunset in the distance.

Night had come to Ishval.


	13. Epilogue

**EPILOGUE**

* * *

Grumman heard the knock on the door and looked up from his reading Mustang and Parker’s requests to investigate Area 15. “Come in.”

Maj. Gen. Olivier Armstrong barged in, the bodyguards at the door flinching a little as she strode to the desk. “I understand you’ve decided Briggs has a deployment, Grumman?”

“A good morning to you too, Gen. Armstrong,” Grumman said, ignoring her typical attitude. By now, expecting Olivier Armstrong to adhere to the proper customs and courtesies of the military was like expecting Mrs. Bradley to know how to run the military. “Yes, we’ve decided that we can use the Briggs forces that fought in the coup to a productive end. General, this is Operation SYMMES.”

Olivia saw the folder on Grumman’s desk, and snatched it away before he could hand it to her. “What’s this then,” she grumbled. “Some fool errand in the northwest rounding up bandits?” Grumman didn’t answer, letting her read. The more she did, the more her eyes widened.

Grumman nodded after three more minutes. “Exactly general,” he said, rising from his chair. “You wanted war? You have it.”

Olivia backed into the nearest chair and sat down, staring at the information with shock. Then a smile started to grow across her face as the reality, and dozens more, set in.


End file.
